


First Meetings

by Echo_Of_Vocem



Category: Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series), markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Abandonment, Attempted Murder, Blood, Dancing, Death, Disco, Gen, Heavy Drinking, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Multi, Other, Time Loop, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2020-04-12 15:55:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19135300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Echo_Of_Vocem/pseuds/Echo_Of_Vocem
Summary: Taking place after WKM before Markiplier TV, the two most well known Markiplier Egos must have met at some point.  Wilford, still a disco dancing bum, finds himself bumping into a familiar face night after night, and yet when they wake up the next morning, it's like the day before never occurred.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> vvv Small Disclaimer vvv
> 
> I “finished” this after I had watched Damien, but before I had watched Mark’s explanation of Damien. I understand that according to Mark, the next time we see Damien and Wil is when Wilford brings up the idea of Markiplier TV. If this were in the canon timeline (since we don't really know when or how Dark and Wilf re-met) this could be placed between the two events.

Wilford awoke with a groan, a massive hangover still plaguing him from the night before. His eyes fought to open in the pain of the sunlight, his muscles fighting against him as he gave a large stretch in his bed. He reached over to his nightstand, feeling for his pill bottle; Nights like this were too common not to keep aspirin by his bedside. He was actually more surprised that he managed to stumble home after his performance alone, for it was even more uncommon that he wouldn’t receive compliments by women, men, whatever else was left for there to be in between. He didn’t really care, it was all the same to him, pretty faces looking for a little piece of him to take home. He looked over and picked up his rose-tinted glasses from the table, finally able to see his aspirin was on the floor next to his bed instead. He groaned softly as he picked the bottle up and popped off the top, gulping down the pill before retreating to the bathroom. 

He rubbed his own face at the sight of it in the mirror, taking the time to really wash out the grime and age, picking out dried bits of vomit or maybe it was blood on his mustache - which he noticed was getting pinker and pinker by the day, the ends a prominent bubblegum color as his inner business kept its darker tones. He combed his grown out hair back into a little ponytail, sighing with a soft smile.

“Here we go again,” He huffed with a slight slur in his words. He jokingly prepped himself as he took off his alcohol stained button up from the previous night, “You know you can’t get screwed up like this every night, Wil. I think waking up like this is just a headache for the both of us.” He laughed half heartedly, managing to get a smile from the man that stared back at him. “Alright old boy, you convinced me. I’ll only have a few martinis tonight. You know, excluding the generous gifts from the crowd. Can’t be rude, now can we?”

He spent what was left in the day going through his average routine, wash his costume, clean up the reoccuring beer bottles and martini glasses, and generally relax before the night came around - that’s when the real fun would start. It was about four when he decided to don his usual costume for his nightly events: some bright yellow pants that flare out a bit on the bottom, pink shoes with a matching pink button up that shone beautifully in the multicolored lights, and his ridiculously amazing pink afro wig. He took off his glasses and put them away in a little white side bag he carried with him, finally putting in his contacts for the night. 

He hummed a little tune as he walked over to the bar, meeting his bandmates early as they usually would. Well, maybe band is a loose term. It was more like he and his two partners would dance and rev the crowd up for a night of nonstop dancing, until they took their breaks or someone tried to bust in and ruin the party. They set up the lights and played rock paper scissors for who would get to be in the middle that night. He rolled rock, and they both rolled paper. He grumbled and rolled his eyes as he took the left side of the stage, the side with the least spotlight. He looked to the bartender, a friend he had made by coming around so often. 

“Heya Wil,” He chuckled as he cleaned out Wilford’s personalized glass, “I assume you want your usual?”

“Ohhh, Dave!” He smiled widely as he jumped down from the stage and slid over to the bar’s side, “How did you know?”

“You’re becomin’ too predictable, old man,” Dave playfully rolled his eyes as he poured the contents into the martini shaker. 

“Predictable? Me?!” Wilford scoffed with slight offense, “Well that’s gonna hafta change!”

“Maybe not being in the spotlight for once will give you some time to think about that,” Dave hummed and poured the concoction into the glass, decorating it at first with a blue umbrella with red highlight designs, which Wilford immediately flicked out of the glass.

“If I’m so damned predictable, why don’t you know by now not to give the blue ones?”

“Just seein’ if you were ready for change,” Dave sighed as he put a pink umbrella with yellow highlight designs instead. “Besides, I’m running outta the pink ones.”

“Somethings are better left unchanging, thank you!” He sang as he took the now complete martini and bounced back to the stage. “Pink and I are a good combination! Nothin’ you can do can change that, Dave.”

Dave gave a pleasant chuckle back as he went back to cleaning the bar counter. Will took a few sips from his drink before putting it away by his bag and giving his body a good stretch with his crew. They excitedly awaited for the club doors to open, already hearing the line of people chanting outside.

“Alright, just another night. Just another dance,” He mumbled to himself as the lights of the floor dimmed and the spots came on, dancing multicolored lights spun and lit up the floor like moonlight on the ocean’s surface. “Let’s get this party started!”

*************

He stumbled out of the bar’s backdoor with a large laugh, a stumble in his step. He definitely did not listen to his own advice earlier that day, managing to get himself tipsy by the second hour into the night. His button up was covered in the drinks and saliva of others, his afro falling back from start of his hairline, and his cheeks were completely covered in kisses and smudged lipstick. He pat his side for his bag, confirming with himself again that he didn’t lose it or forget it. He usually had the worse memory when it came to little things like this.

He began to walk back in the direction he assumed was home, only to bump into the shoulder of another man.

“Agh! Sorry there ol’ chap! Didn’ see you there!” He chuckled and waved before looking back at the man. He was a rather dapper looking fellow, a dark blue suit covering him from shoulder to toe. His hair was dark like Wilford’s, but instead of being slicked back with sweat, it was probably loosely gelled. His dark eyes stared at Wil for a long while, and Wilford couldn’t find out what he was thinking behind those eyes. He sort of shrugged it off as the man taking in his tired and messy state and walked off, not giving him a second thought as he giggled all the way back home.


	2. Mother Lovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The excitement starts with a little fun,  
> Two was always better than one.  
> Whether it be from him or her,  
> Can Wil prevent a jealous murder?

Wilford woke up with a loud groan, sun beaming in through the windows and a massive hangover still plaguing him from the night before. His muscles fought against him as he gave a large stretch in his bed rubbing his eyes. He reached over to his nightstand, feeling for his pill bottle and glasses. He groaned as he could only feel his glasses on the table. He put them on and looked over to see his bottle of aspirins down on the floor. He groaned softly as he picked the bottle off the ground, fidgeting with the top for a while before popping it off. He gulped down a pill or two before heading to the bathroom. 

He rubbed his own face at the sight of it in the mirror, aged and dirty. He quickly washed himself off, picking out bits of dried vomit or maybe it was blood in his famous mustache. He combed his grown out hair back into a little ponytail, sighing with a soft smile.

“Here we go again,” He playfully rolled his eyes at the man in the mirror. He peeled off his alcohol stained button up from the previous night, “You know you can’t get screwed up like this every night, Wil. I think waking up like this is just a headache for both of us.” He laughed halfheartedly before having the joke fully die in his mind. “Alright old boy, you convinced me. I’ll only have a few martinis tonight. You know, excluding the generous gifts from the crowd. Can’t be rude, now can we?”

He spent what was left in the day going through his average routine, wash his costume, clean up the reoccurring beer bottles and martini glasses, some of which he swore he picked up yesterday. He sighed when his apartment looked decent enough, relaxing on the couch with a good book before the night came around.

It was about four thirty when he headed to the club, greeting his bandmates with a smile. They set up the lights as they usually would and played rock paper scissors for who would get to be in the middle that night. He rolled scissors, and they both rolled paper. He giggled in a gleeful celebration as he took the center of the stage, doing a few playful poses for them to laugh and smile at. He looked to his friend, the bartender, who waved him over with a smile. 

“Heya Wil,” He chuckled as he cleaned out Wilford’s personalized glass, “I assume you want your usual?”

“Ohhh, Dave!” He smirked as he jumped down from the stage and danced over to the bar’s side, “How did you know?”

“You’re becomin’ too predictable, old man,” Dave playfully rolled his eyes as he gave the old martini mixer a good shake. 

“Predictable? Me?!” Wilford scoffed with a slight offense, “Well that’s gonna hafta change!”

“Maybe not being in the spotlight for once will give you some time to think about that,” Dave hummed and poured the concoction into the glass. Dave tried to decorate it with a green umbrella with orange highlight designs, only to have Wilford flick it out of the glass.

“If I’m so damned predictable, why don’t you know by now not to give the green ones?”

“Just seein’ if you were ready for change,” Dave sighed as he put in a pink umbrella instead. “Besides, I’m running outta the pink ones.”

“Some things are better left unchanging, thank you!” He sang as he took the now complete martini and bounced back to the stage. “Pink and I are a good combination! Nothin’ you can do can change that, Dave.”

Dave chuckled as back as he went back to cleaning the bar counter. Wil took a few sips from his drink before putting it away by his bag and giving his body a good stretch with his crew. They excitedly awaited for the club doors to open, already hearing the line of people chanting outside.

He bounced from foot to foot with excitement, muttering under his breath, “Alright, just another night. Just another dance…" A smile grew quickly on his face as he proudly proclaimed out to the room as the doors were flung open, "Let’s get this party started!”

*************

He stumbled out of the bar’s backdoor with a large laugh, a handsome young devil in his arms and a stumble in his step. He did not listen to his advice earlier that day, getting himself more than tipsy by the second hour into the night. His button up was covered in the drinks and saliva of others, his afro falling back from the start of his hairline, and his cheeks were completely covered in kisses and smudged lipstick. He pats his side for his bag, only to see that his new friend had grabbed it for him. He sighed with relief, he usually had the worse memory when it came to things like this.

They began to walk back in the direction he assumed was home, only to bump into the shoulder of another man.

“Agh! Sorry, there ol’ chap! Didn’ see you there!” He chuckled and waved before looking back at the man. The man’s dark eyes stared at Wil for a long while, and Wil could swear he had seen that man before someplace. He sort of shrugged it off, and made jokes with his bedmate for the night, making him giggle softly to himself.  
It was then he was pulled back by his shoulder and pushed against the wall, landing in the garbage below. 

“Well, that was quite a late reaction!” Wil chuckled aloof as his to-be bedmate seemed scared of the suited man that had grabbed Wilford. 

“You bastard,” The suited man growled in a dark low tone, with some other kind of voice that spoke too clearly for Wilford to ignore. Even in his impaired state, he couldn’t shake the feeling of familiarity to his-... no, maybe it was _her_ words rather. Before he even had a chance to react he felt a pain smack across his cheek and felt the blood run down his face. The man scoffed as he held back the item he had smacked him across the cheek with.

“No… he… you’re not worth it.” He grumbled and stormed into the night. 

Wilford groaned as his friend worried over his health, picking him up and out of the garbage. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” Wilford insisted as he calmed him, “Happens all the time. That chap should be lucky I wasn’t in a fightin’ mood. Then it woulda been a real fist-o-cups!”

He, though worried out of his mind for him, sighed and nodded in agreement. Wilf chuckled and safely took his new bedmate back home, ready for a night of fun for the motherlover.

*************************************

Wilford woke up to the sun blinding him, with a massive hangover plaguing him from the night before. He stretched in his bed with a groan and reached over for his aspirin bottle, cracking his eye open as he saw it wasn’t on the side table, but on the floor. He popped open the top of the bottle, gulping down a pill and firmly setting it down on the table. He put on his glasses and saw that the man he brought home was nowhere to be found, not even a hint of his presence was left behind. He cracked his neck a bit before going to clean himself off in the bathroom, washing off the filth and stench from the night prior. He hummed as he combed his hair, chuckling at himself in the mirror. 

“Here we go again, ol’ chap,” He hummed as he took off his pink button up off for it’s daily clean. “You know you can’t get this screwed up every night…” His boisterous attitude faded into mutters. He thought he remembered getting into a fight the other night, nothing terribly serious, just a cut on his cheek. He also remembered a certain excited house guest biting into his neck multiple times throughout the night, and yet there were no marks left behind. Not even one blood bruise. Come to think of it, he didn’t even fall asleep in his shirt or trousers, or at least he didn’t think so.

“Hm.” He looked at his neck and check in the mirror, rubbing his cheek and neck to confirm no pain, no marks, no scars. “Well, that’s new…" He muttered in confusion before shaking it off, "Maybe my skin toughened up from all the dancing.” He chuckled softly and rubbed his head, still bothering him with a headache, “Ugh… You know, one of these days I _am_ going to listen to you. Fewer martinis, yada yada… that’s the very least you can expect me to promise you. I can’t deny a gift from the crowd, that’s rude!” He got a small chuckle out of himself and went on with his routine again. He picked up his room that seemed to cluster with more booze and empty glasses like the day before. It was honestly starting to annoy him that he would forget to clean after so long, so he spent the day before work giving his apartment a deep clean, really earning some shots of the vodka he had stashed away in his refrigerator.

He went on with his day, donned his costume and met his bandmates at the bar like the day before. They set up the lights the same way and played rock paper scissors for center stage. Wilford played scissors, while they both rolled paper. 

He gave a knowing smile, “Are you two going easy on me? Both playin’ paper? It’s a sweet jest, really. But you can’t expect to win with paper every time, you know.” 

“I didn’t play paper last night, I played rock,” One of them questioned. “You played paper last night, remember?”

“Did I?” He muttered as they walked to the stage, “I could’ve sworn that you both played paper yesterday…” 

“You must be losin’ it old man!” They other joked as they walked up on the stage. 

He was about to go off on them when Dave called him from the bar, “Heya Wil! I assume you want your usual?” He chuckled as he cleaned out Wilford’s personalized glass

“Dave!” Wil walked over, “Yes please, somethin’ funny is goin’ on with those two…” 

“You’re becomin’ too predictable, old man,” Dave playfully rolled his eyes at Wil, making his martini exactly the way he liked it. 

“Predictable?” Wilford looked around oddly, the conversation itself now starting to sound familiar, “I suppose that’s one word for it.”

“Maybe you just need a little change,” Dave hummed and poured the concoction into the glass, decorating it with an orange umbrella with green highlight designs.

Wilford flicked the umbrella out, “If I’m so damned predictable, why don’t you know by now not to give the orange ones?”

“Just seein’ if you were ready for change,” Dave sighed as he put in a pink umbrella instead. “Besides, I’m running outta the pink ones.”

Wilford hummed and looked to Dave, “How many are there left anyways, old chum?” 

“Oh, about five or six.”

“Well, you’d better order some new ones! I’m feeling awfully thirsty tonight!”

“You’re always thirsty you old dog!” Dave playfully yelled back as Wil took to the stage with his classic martini. They excitedly awaited for the club doors to open as they gave their amble bodies a good stretch, hearing the line of people chanting outside.

“Alright, just another night. Just another dance…” He hummed as he downed his drink, and put the glass away. He quickly got back into position as the doors were opened. “Let’s get this party started!”

*************

He stumbled out of the bar’s backdoor, chuckling to himself, getting just as much attention as the night before. He was even bringing back a new hotter than the sun woman back to his place for some good old quality time. He patted his side for his bag, confirming with himself again that he didn’t lose it or forget it.

He began to walk back in the direction he assumed was home, only to bump into the shoulder of another man.

“Agh! Sorry, there ol’ chap! Didn’ see you there!” He chuckled and waved before looking back at the man. The man’s dark eyes stared at Wil for a long while, and Wil could’ve sworn he knew that man somehow, even though he didn’t look at all familiar. He was about to shrug it off when the suited man grabbed him and threw him against the wall.

“You bastard,” He growled. Wilford’s eyes widened a bit as he remembered the cut on his cheek yesterday, it must have been from this man.

“Easy chap,” He tried to calm the suited stranger, keeping a carefree tone with a little chuckle, “No need to get fussy.” 

“Fussy? Fussy?!” He scowled and smacked Wilford across the cheek with the top of some object. 

“Ow,” Wilford deadpanned for a moment before feeling the blood drip down his face all the same way it did before. “There it is again,” He mumbled as he wiped off the blood from the cheek. He looked up into the eyes of the man defiantly, “Who are you?!”

“Your worst nightmare,” He grumbled and Wilford groaned loudly in pain as some blunt object was forced through the center of his chest, clean through to the other side, a harsh smack of wood against the brick. His lady friend screamed like bloody murder at the sight of blood splattered across the plastic bags, and, after a horrified moment of shock, bolted down and out of the alley.

“Well,” He grunted as he repeatedly flicked the base of the long black object that had penetrated through the center of his rib cage. “That ain't good...” He looked up at the man, seeing a pitch darkness surround him with flickers of red and blue. The last thing he heard was the growing sound of a ringing in his ears, and the angered pants of the man that stood above him.


	3. The Late Notice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shells lay still on the floor,  
> As the sea pulls in the tide.  
> Why cooperate with routine anymore?  
> To contemplate a simple "_______"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If the completed poem above makes you uncomfortable, feel free to skip out on this chapter.

Wilford groaned as he woke up with a massive hangover from the night before, the sun in his eyes was definitely unhelpful. He stretched and reached over for his aspirin bottle, his eye-opening comically slow as he saw it wasn’t on the side table, but on the floor. He fidgeted with the top of the bottle as he opened it, gulping down a pill and setting it down on the table, half tempted to superglue the sucker into place. He put on his glasses, mumbling softly as he went to clean himself off in the bathroom. He hummed as he combed his hair, chuckling at himself in the mirror. 

“Here we go again, ol’ chap,” He hummed as he peeled off his shirt. “You know you can’t get…” He trailed off. His clothes appearing back on him was one thing, but there were messier things on him that weren’t there. Not even one mark left from the sheer unexplainable pain he felt shooting through his chest.

“Hm.” He looked at his neck and chest in the mirror, rubbing between his pecks and the start of his abs to confirm no pain. “Well, that’s new…”He squinted as he swore that sounded familiar. “No… no that’s old!” He remembered the day before with the man, he left marks that weren’t here either. And that day in general just seemed almost identical to the one before it. 

He rubbed his head in his confusing thoughts. Normally time screwing around with him wasn’t different, but it never repeated… did it? He got a bigger headache just thinking about it and tried to go on with his day like normal. He picked up his room, running across a similar issue when he swore he had recently cleaned the mess up. He groaned at the end when he tried to relax, reading where he left off only to find that looked familiar too. 

He donned his costume and met his bandmates at the bar like the day before. They set up the lights the same way and played rock paper scissors for center stage. Wilford played scissors, again, while they rolled paper, _again._

He gave a little squint at his bandmates. “Is this a joke? Playing paper again?” 

“I didn’t play paper last night, I played rock,” One of them responded. “You played paper last night, remember?”

He looked at them both oddly, “And you're both quite sure about that?” 

“You must be losin’ it old man!” The other joked as they walked up on the stage. 

He grumbled as he walked over to Dave, who greeted him with the same smiles as always, “Heya Wil! I assume you want your usual?” He chuckled as he cleaned out Wilford’s personalized glass

“Yes please, I think I might need one for today. Somethin’ weird is happening… And if I’m not a part of it, then you know it’s gotta be off the charts!” 

“You’re becomin’ too predictable, old man,” Dave playfully rolled his eyes at Wil as he made his martini.

“Predictable?” Wilford scoffed under his breath, this whole day was just getting to his head. He looked off to the side, his crossed arms resting on the bar as he leaned over it. “I suppose that’s one word for it.”

“Maybe you just need a little change,” Dave hummed and poured the concoction into the glass, decorating it with a red umbrella with blue highlight designs.

Wil squinted his eyes at the umbrella, half tempted to flick it out of the glass. He hesitated before taking the glass and slowly pulling it towards him, staring into the mixed drink, “Maybe…”

Dave seemed surprised at Wilford, and gave him a smile, “There we go! Even a little change might help. And thank god, I was just about to run out of the pink ones.”

“How many are left?”

“Maybe one or two if I look hard enough.”

He hummed quizzically, swishing the liquid around in his glass. “Okay… Thanks again ol’ chum,” He smiled and headed back to the stage, gulping down the glass almost instantly before putting it away by his bag. He stretched alongside his colleagues at the center stage.

“Okay okay… Another night, another dance…” 

*************

He walked out of the back with his bag in hand, a bit more stable than the night prior. He was buzzed at best, not having his usual amount of alcohol purely if not for this odd sensation in his gut; of course, that didn’t stop him from taking offered drinks from customers. He had received plenty of kisses and compliments from being in the spotlight for so long - it left him tired, but in a good way.

He began to walk home when his shoulder was bumped into another man’s.

“Oh! Sorry old-!” He stopped in the middle of his sentence as he realized this was the exact same man from the night prior: Dapper dark suit, styled hair, cold eyes. 

“What?” The man spoke in a dark brooding tone, and that’s when Wilford realized he was staring.

“Nothing!” Wilford quipped quickly, “But uh… do you come to this club often?” 

“I don’t go in the club,” the man huffed briefly. 

“Oh… Then… what are you doing back here, ol’ sport?” 

“Does it matter?” He grumbled, his eyes piercing Wil’s confidence like daggers.

“No, I... guess it doesn’t,” He struggled to keep his cheery tone, “Just trying to make conversation is all.”

The man rolled his eyes and walked off into the dark, and Wil hummed to himself as he walked home himself. He held his head in confusion, nothing seemed the same from where he was. He locked the door behind him and let out a large sigh, his heart pounding. He felt for his bag and unzipped it, pulling out his gun. He kept it loaded for emergencies, with extra bullets hidden around the house. He opened up his old friend, managing to see one bullet left. So he did himself a favor as he put the barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger. 

*************************************

Wilford groaned as he woke up with massive pain in his head from the night before, probably from all the drinking he must have done. He stretched and reached over for his aspirin bottle, finding it on the floor. He grumbled as he opened the top and gulped down a pill. He put on his glasses went to clean himself off in the bathroom. He hummed as he combed his hair, chuckling at himself in the mirror. 

“Here we go again, ol’ chap,” He hummed as he unbuttoned his shirt. “You know you can’t get this screwed up like this every night, Wil. I think waking up like this is just a headache for both of us.” He let out a laugh at the man that stared back at him. “Alright old boy, you convinced me. I’ll only have a few martinis tonight. You know, excluding the generous gifts from the crowd. Can’t be rude, now can we?”

He donned his costume and met his bandmates at the bar like the day before. They set up the lights the same way and played rock paper scissors for center stage. Wilford played scissors, while they rolled paper. 

He gave a little squint at his bandmates, something in him telling him that they had played this before. He didn’t give it a second thought as he was called over to the bar by his friend.

“Heya Wil! I assume you want your usual?”

“Yes please, how did you know?” 

“You’re becomin’ too predictable, old man,” Dave playfully rolled his eyes at Wil as he made his martini

“Predictable?” Wilford questioned jokingly when he reheard this conversation in his mind, far too many times for it to repeat like this.

“Maybe you just need a little change,” Dave hummed and poured the concoction into the glass, decorating it with a red umbrella with blue highlight designs.

Wil squinted his eyes at the umbrella, and slowly took the glass over and took a sip, “Maybe…”

Dave seemed surprised at Wilford, and gave him a smile, “There we go! Even a little change might help. And thank god, I just ran out of the pink ones!.”

He hummed softly to himself in thought, something was most definitely happening, but he didn’t know what. “Okay… Thanks again ol’ chum,” He smiled and headed back to the stage, gulping down the glass instantly before putting it by his bag. He stretched alongside his colleagues at the center stage, taking in a deep breath.

“Okay okay… Another night, another dance…” 

*************

He walked out of the back with his bag in hand, buzzed at best. Other than drinks offered to him from customers, he didn’t drink much tonight. 

He began to walk home when his shoulder was bumped into another man’s.

“Oh! Sorry old-!” He stopped in the middle of his sentence as he realized this was the exact same man from the night prior, and what’s more, was he had recognized him. 

“What?” The man huffed.

“Nothing old sport,” Wilford hummed, trying to think of something else to say, “Just… wondering what a dapper young fella like yourself would be doing here.” 

“Does it matter?” He growled.

“No, just,” He struggled to think, “Just trying to make conversation is all.”

The man rolled his eyes and walked off into the dark, and Wil hummed to himself as he walked home himself. He locked the door behind him and let out a large sigh, his heart pounding. He felt for his bag and unzipped it, pulling out his gun. He opened up his old friend, surprising himself when it was empty. 

Just like that, memories flooded into his mind. He had come to this point before, if not only yesterday. He was supposed to be dead on his floor, but he woke up all the same. He scrambled throughout the house looking for his extras, only to find them all empty or full of empty shells. He started to panic he pulled out an emergency shoebox full of other weapons that had to be filled. He opened it to find a note attached to one of his favorites, addressed to him. He cautiously took the note and opened it up. 

_"Wil,_  
_I don’t know if you’ll ever come back to this point, but if you have then I have bad news. You can’t kill yourself, or rather you could if not for the problem. The day just keeps resetting and resetting, it’s almost impossible for someone as sane as us not to notice. But that doesn’t mean we won’t forget. I keep having to reconnect my memories with new items, hoping to god they won’t become misplaced or reset with the day._  
I noticed a few things keep track, Dave’s umbrellas go out of stock (so I've been taking a few blue and orange ones), if I lose my bag at the club it will still be there, and of course, all used bullets slowly phase out too.  
_I don’t know who or what is causing this, or know even when the day resets, but please try and remember! I can only hope this note stays in the loop… If not, then I’m sorry._  
_Yours truly, the late William J. Barnum"_

Wilford stared at the note in shock, memories coming in and out of the moment he wrote this, in between tears before ending his existence in that day early with cops trying to stop him from shooting out his window in a frantic panic, and a bullet through the head. He rubbed the spot he shot, feeling no scars to even tell him what was real or what wasn’t. He started to hyperventilate in fear, knowing that by tomorrow he could forget again and have the cycle start all over with no way of knowing until he got to this point again. He didn’t want to do this again, not again! There had to be some way he could make himself remember!

He took the note and guns out and placed them on the table by his bed. If he touched it, he might remember his pain, even if by accident. He slipped under the covers and went into bed, this had to work. If it didn’t, then...


	4. Notorious Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guns and roses in a bubblegum brume  
> Caution taken to each choice  
> Where danger and dimness loom  
> Leading to a strange - but familiar - voice

Wilford groaned as he woke up, head pounding with a hangover. _I couldn’t have had that much last night…_ He reached over to his bedside table, his eyes flying awake as his bottle of aspirin wasn’t there, but his guns. One of them even had a note on them. He took a pill from the bottle on the floor as he read the note as he grabbed his glasses. 

At first, he thought it was a joke, something drunk Wilford was trying to play on hungover Wilford. He felt his face for marks and dirt for the night he experienced prior and ran to his bathroom. He looked at himself in the mirror for a long time until he realized the differences. There were no lip marks on his cheeks, his mouth and shirt reeked of booze even when he had only what he considered a light drinking session the night before, dried vomit and blood specks on his mustache when he never recalled barfing or getting into a drunken fight in days. He ran his hand through his still messy hair, processing and reprocessing the fact that the letter could very well be true. 

“Okay ol’ chum… I guess yer stuck in a loop,” his eyebrows raised, trying to remain his bubbly attitude. “I don’t want to believe it, but I…” He rubbed his face in thought. “I…" He groaned and held his head, it was way too early to be thinking about such existential and uncharacteristically serious thoughts, "You’re gonna be fine ol’ dog, just take it easy…” He sighed and washed his face of all the filth, taking off his shirt for the same treatment. 

He spent a while at his place, pondering about what exactly had been occurring before realizing the time and hurriedly putting on his costume and running down to the club. He met his band members again, apologizing for his tardiness and not helping with the lights. They played rock paper scissors for center stage, and this time he remembered that they always rolled paper. As an experiment, he rolled paper too, only for them all to have flat hands.

“Whoa! How crazy is that? We’ve never all done the same thing!” One of his band members noted.

“I’m sure we must have, you guys keep rolling paper...” He muttered passive-aggressively. 

“No? I rolled rock-”

“And I rolled paper yesterday, I know,” He muttered and rubbed the back of his head. “Sorry, I’m… I’m a little out of it today.”

“Somethin’ wrong?” 

“I don’t know…” He murmured in thought, “If it’s quite alright with you two, I’ll take the back corner. I don’t think I’ll be dancing my best tonight.”

“Are you sure?” The other asked surprised. 

“Yeah, yeah,” He nodded and assured quickly, waving his hand as he started to walk towards the stage, “Let’s just get ready to perform.” He put his bag in its usual place, away from where the crowd would gather, when Dave noticed him and waved him over. 

“Heya Wil! I assume you want your usual?”

“Oh, uhh,” He awkwardly meandered over, “I think I’m rather good tonight. Thanks, chum.”

Dave looked at him with surprise. “You’re refusing your own martini? Is something up?” 

“The world is just,” He sighed in a loss for words, “It never made sense before, but this is just a whole new level of madness.” Dave looked at him confused, and Wilford sighed at him, “I guess what I’m trying to say is that life is becoming too… predictable.” 

“So you’re changing your drinking habits?” Dave questioned. 

“N-not forever!” He quickly corrected with a bit of a giggle, “Just… not tonight.” He looked down to his hands and ran his thumb over the flesh of his fingers. “Some things are better left unchanging… But if I don’t know what to change then,” He trailed off, scratching a little dent into his index. 

“I suppose,” Dave hummed, putting Wil’s glass away. “If that’s truly what you want.” 

“It is,” He assured a bit solemn, before adding, “Oh! And give any drinks meant for me to my friends. They’ll probably deserve them more than I will.” He smiled as he walked off to the stage and gave a little stretch. 

_If I can’t figure out who or what is causing this, I’m going to end up repeating again, and then I could forget as easily as I did this morning! He warmed up as the house lights were dimmed and the stage lights were set, taking in a deep breath through his mouth. There’s got to be some factor to this I’m not aware of yet. Something I’m not quite seeing… but until then… It’s just another night. It’s just another dance._

**************

Wilford sat outside the club with his arms crossed over his knees in thought. He hadn’t even touched alcohol in the few hours he managed to stay motivated to dance. He was always free to leave after ten but always managed to stay until three or four the next morning. He stayed outside the back entrance in case he felt like going back in. 

From what he could remember, everything was exactly the same: the lights, the people, the music, everything. The only difference this time was that he had been dancing sober for the past few hours - totally not mad about that brilliant decision - and watching as his bandmates got piss drunk, having the time of their lives. What was there to be different? Was nothing different? How many times had he been through this day without realizing it? How many times did he make it this far in realizing he was stuck before forgetting again? Was this the result of a mistake of his own or was this the world’s fault? Why was he forcing himself to take this matter so seriously? And most importantly, how did he really expect to solve this grand of a mystery on his own?

“Are you okay?” A deep voice spoke to him. He looked up to see the suited man that he had been bumbling or bumping into for the past few nights. This was the only time in his memory that he had ever seen his white button-up and red tie that were underneath.

“It’s you,” He mumbled in surprise. “I normally don’t see you until later.”

“So you’ve noticed it as well?” He hummed in shock. “I’ve been waiting for someone else to notice the repeat.”

“Oh thank god!” Wilford let out a relieved breath and jumped to his feet, “For a second I thought I was the one going crazy! Thank god it’s just the world going crazy!”

“I take it you don’t know why either then?” 

“N-… no,” He mumbled sheepishly. “I thought maybe you, er… someone else would have the answers.” 

“If I had the answers, I would have found the source of this loop by now,” He growled. “I’m just as stuck as you are. We’re just the only people who’ve noticed it.” 

Will groaned, “So I’m stuck waking up hungover every day?”

“ _That’s_ your major concern?”

“I’m concerned about a lot of things, but _yes_ that’s one of them!” He half-joked. “You try waking up with a booming headache each morning!”

“You’re an imbecile,” He sneered surprised as if that was new information. He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, “I’m stuck forever in a loop with an alcoholic, disco dancing, _pink_ imbecile.” 

“I have a name,” He seethed, “And I’m gonna be stuck with an uptight, blue-blooded, upper-crust like you forever, you might as well know it. It’s Wilford.”

The suited man looked to Wil with a moment of pure anger before calming down and sighing. “I’m…” He paused, almost as if he had to give thought into giving Wilford his own name, “Dark.” 

Wilford’s eyes lowered into a glare and he gave 'Dark’ a snarky smile, “You know, if we're gonna go with the kooky, fun, made-up names, then you can call me Wingelhimer.”

Dark glared back at him and hissed angrily, “What's wrong with Dark?”

“Nothing! Jeez, ‘all work and no play’ kind of type, aren't you?” He jested as sincerely as he could before starting to walk off. “Let’s walk and talk, Dark Knight. If we’re gonna get through this, we’re gonna need to know everything we can about this loop.”

Dark groaned but agreed as he followed Wilford down the back alley. Wilford took the time to take in his appearance, noticing now that his skin was pale and nearly grey, and he could see his pronounced veins on his neck and hands; which he now noticed was carrying a very familiar cane. 

“Have we had this conversation before?” Wilford asked bluntly.

“I don’t know… I don’t think so,” He looked over at Wil, “I do remember you shooting me a couple of times when I pissed you off. As well as a couple of times I killed you when you apparently pissed me off.”

“Ah, I guess that explains the dirty looks you gave me whenever we’d bump shoulders.” He chortled, “Sorry if that hurt, I know I’ve used a few bullets on others... including myself.”

“I don’t blame you,” He growled, “It’s utter hell, living the same day over and over again. I can’t _stand_ it.”

Wilford gave a shrug, “I’ve been through much worse things.” 

Dark started to retort before cutting himself in thought. He then mirrored Wil’s shrug with a soft tone, “I guess I could say the same.” 

Wilford smiled, “I guess those are stories for when this is all over then, isn’t it?”

“Indeed, we need to focus on what we know.” He looked to Wilford with serious intent, “Do you know when the resets occur?”

“No, I’m usually out by then,” Wil admitted. “I know it must be after four though, since I usually walk out of here by then, or go home and have some…” For some reason, he felt it best not to flaunt that he had gotten a few clubbers to follow him home. So much so that he physically hesitated with a long drone before regaining his composure with a loud cough, a fist’s side beating his chest. “Good rest.”

Dark acknowledged him with a nod, too much into his own thoughts to fully comprehend Wilford’s nonsense. “I’m not entirely certain, but it may be by five. I’ve stayed up many nights and I always managed to make it by four fifty before things start to get weird…”

“How do you remember in the morning?” He inquired.

“I try and write notes or leave mementos of the night prior, write down any detail no matter how small… Sometimes it doesn’t work though.”

“I’ve done the same,” He hummed, “I’m not always keen on keeping track of the details and the minutia as it were, but I have noticed some inconsistencies. I always have to throw away the same bottles in the morning, but then my martini umbrellas get tossed out all the same.” 

“That’s important?” Dark deadpanned.

“You’re the one who writes down unimportant details, you tell me,” He chuckled for a moment before attempting to return to seriousness, “Some things stay the same, and others don’t! Hell, I woke up next to my guns this morning!”

Dark rolled his eyes with a scoff. “I guess it could be important,” He digressed, “My notes usually stay the same, but a pencil cracked in half gets fixed by morning…” 

“It’s the same conversations with the same people unless I change what I say… and even then I’ve found patterns I run into.” 

Dark nodded in agreement. “Every night I try and do something different, but the only time I can remember is when I look at my notes or bump into you,” he added.

“Remembering was hard for me to do until today. Even then I feel like things could be better if I just forgot,” Wilford admitted softly.

“No,” Dark barked through clenched teeth, “I am not going through this hellish cycle for another minute if I can help it.” 

_Quite the temper I see,_ Wilford thought to himself, _I commend his spirit… Reminds me of someone._

Dark sighed harshly and straightened his suit front, “I don’t suppose you have any idea how to stop this.” 

“Not really,” Wilford hummed as he took a sip from his martini in thought. “I’m really up for any ideas though.”

“... How did you do that?” Dark’s voice seemed to unintentionally layer over itself.

“Do what?” Wil raised an eyebrow before realizing he had a drink in his hand. “Oh, right.” He sort of shook it before shrugging and taking another sip, denying that anything out of the ordinary occurred, “Don’t worry about it, chap.”

Dark growled as he took the martini from Wilford’s hands, stretching it away from Wilford’s grasp. “Can’t you be serious?” He demanded with furrowed brows.

“I am being serious,” He protested as he pulled the martini up for another drink, Dark double-taking at the hand that he thought the martini was in. Wilford snickered at the confusion in Dark’s eyes, sputtering soft beginnings to questions. “As I said, don’t worry about it. Things are just gonna get jumbled and messy - like a splattered martini on the floor. And it’ll get weird, especially around me!” He chuckled as he finished it off, only for it to refill again, “It's just... better not to think about it and pretend everything's natural, old boy.”

Dark looked to Wilford again with squinted eyes, “Have I… Have we met before this all started? Now that I’m really looking at you, you look… quite familiar…” 

Wilford shrugged, “Who knows? For all I know we have met before, but time is so ass-backward that it really hasn’t happened yet. Maybe it already happened. Or maybe it’s happening now? Who truly knows?” He took a long sip from his martini as he chuckled and mocked Dark’s former tone, “I’m just an ‘alcoholic, disco dancing, pink imbecile’ after all.”

“Wil…?” Dark stared at Wilford in disbelief for a good minute before ushering a name so soft and shocked Wilford almost misheard him, “Colonel?” 

Wilford let out a soft laugh at the mere memories that name brought up, “Wha-! Well, there's a name I haven't heard in quite some time, old boy! Where'd you hear that one? Did ol’ Abe tell you, that lovable bastard?”

Dark backed up for a moment, taking in Wilford's appearance as a whole before focusing in on him. “William,” his voice seemed to layer over itself as if two or more people were whispering at the same time. “Is it really you under all that?”

Wilford hummed and tilted his head in confusion as looked back at Dark with soft eyes, “Do I know you, friend-? Outside, of course, of all this madness.”

Dark bit his lip in thought, fidgeting with his cane in an almost identical way to an old friend he used to know. “Yes... and no…” His mind seemed to race for answers. “It’s… difficult to explain, old friend.”

“Oh?” He hummed softly, taking in Dark again. His eyes widened in realization, how much of an imbecile could he truly be not to recognize his own best friend? “Damien?” He asked, hesitant, “Is that… is that you in there?”

Dark looked to him with colder eyes than Damien ever gave him. “No,” he growled, his voice overlapping with that of a woman's, a man's, and something darker that lay underneath. “Damien is… no longer who I am. Nor am I the one you'd once call Celine…”

“Celine?” He muttered shocked, and stepped forward, bringing up a gentle hand to Dark's face. He looked into the cold eyes Dark gave back, only to see hints of the twins, broken and disheveled. “What's happened to you two? Er… three? Four maybe? I can't really tell at this point.”

Dark growled and pushed Wilford back, “It doesn't matter. Clearly, we are not the same people we once knew.”

“That doesn't mean we still don't know each other! That we can't still be friends!”

“Friends?” Dark's eyes rolled in their sockets.

“At the very least… it's the least I could do to help you.”

Dark grumbled, “You can't help me… the only way I could get out of this situation is if I managed to find that bastard,” their fists tightened, “Make sure that Mark stays dead. Take back my body, take that control.”

“Mark…” Wilford concentrated for a moment, memories of the manor rushing back to him, and what happened on that terrible night of nights. He held his head, “Dear God, I had nearly forgotten about that… memories really have gotten disarranged after so much hiding… I had nearly forgotten why I was on the run for so long!”

Dark growled, “If I had any idea where he was, I would say that this is his fault. But I don't think he's anywhere near this place.”

“It's not a bad hypothesis, just an unusual one,” he answered and offered Dark a drink, “Care for a sip?”

“I think I'm good, Wil.” Dark pushed away from the glass.

“Worth a shot,” he shrugged and took a sip of his own. “Just tryin’ to loosen you up a little.” 

Dark grumbled, “I don't suppose you know of anything else?”

“Not really. The only person I know who knows what's happening is you, and I'm the only person you know who knows what's happening. We just don't know how to escape it yet.”

Dark grumbled, “And once the day resets, we won't know what we did unless we have some sort of memento that we can connect to these memories…”

Wilford hummed, “If we could meet earlier then we could discuss in detail what's really happening, and take our time to figure out the other oddball in the court.”

“You really think we could work together, Wil?” Dark queried at him. 

“Indubitably, old sport! If we're the only ones who notice this, have the same goals, et cetera et cetera, then it only makes sense that we work together… It'd be just like the old days!” He lit up with an idea. He put down his martini and searched through his white bag and pulled out his glasses and put them into Dark's hands, “Here! Take these. And write yourself a note to come here in the morning.” 

“Why?” 

“I’m not a big contact person, and I always bring my glasses with me to the club. If I don't have them, I'll probably head down here to the lost and found as soon as I wake up.”

“And what if I don't want to come here in the morning or toss these glasses away?”

“Give me something you'd come here to get! Anything at all!”

“Well…” Dark trailed off and looked down at the cane in his grip, “It would be a little hard to walk, but if I truly thought to search here then I could part with this.”

“Perfect! Now we both have even more reason to come to the lost and found here!” Will smiled as he took Dark's cane, getting a small taste of nostalgia as he rubbed his thumb over the top. “Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow, old friend.”

“Hope to see you too.”

*************************************

Wilford groaned as his eyes peeled back to open, bringing a hand up to cover them from the sunlight. A headache was pounding in his ears, and he desperately needed some aspirin. He reached over to his table, surprised to feel some long object taking up space. He patted the table for his glasses and groaned, he must have left them at the club by mistake. He took a pill from the bottle he found on the floor and made his way to the bathroom. He washed his face and hands before putting in his contacts, picking off the remaining gross bits. 

He headed back to his bedroom to see a familiar black cane sitting at his bedside with a single note that read: _Bring to lost and found - Wil._ He hummed and ran his hand over the cane, a little flood of memories from the days of old and friends he longed to visit. He hummed and thought that it would be better to get his glasses and drop off his cane now rather than later. He peeled off his disco outfit and threw it in for it’s a daily wash. He threw on a simple yellow button up, plain classic khaki waist highs, pink suspenders that hung from his hips like a decoration, and brushed his hair back into a ponytail before heading out. He hummed as he walked to the club, sort of playing with the cane and fidgeting as he made his way down. 

He entered from the front, giving a hesitant wave to Dave who was just sweeping up from the night before.

“Wilf? You’re early today,” Dave chuckled. 

“I just wanted to drop something off at the lost and found, as well as maybe take a look?” He playfully dragged out his words into a beg. 

Dave chuckled as he put down the broom, “Did you forget your bag again?” 

“I think it’s just my glasses,” Wilford murmured as he followed Dave back near the front, “You know, the pint tinted ones with the little gold linings? I’m lucky I was able to find my contacts this morning without them!”

Dave hummed in agreement as he cycled through his keys, “You’re lucky I know you so well, otherwise I’d never let you barge in here like this.” 

“Excuse me?” 

Wilford turned to the direction of the new voice, seeing a brooding young man in a dark suit.

“Hey! Can’t you read?!” Dave growled as he walked over and pointed to the sign on his door, “The club is closed, we open at six!” 

“I just wanted to return these,” He articulated as he pulled out Wilford’s glasses from his jacket pocket. 

“Oh! There they are!” Wilford happily gushed as he skipped over to get them, “Thank you so much!”

“I also wanted to look for my cane,” He avowed softly as his attention leered over to what Wilford had found on his bedside, “That one, actually.” 

“Well isn’t this convenient!” Wilford smiled as he took his glasses back, and just like that heaps of memories came flooding back to him. He looked up to the person he now recognized as Dark, who by the looks of it had a similar epiphany as they took back the cane from Wilford. They stared at each other for a while before Wilford casually broke the silence, “Well! Seems like that’s cleared up for the both of us! How about you and I grab a coffee down the corner and talk for a bit? My treat!” 

Dark seemed a bit confused but nodded anyway and the two headed out. 

“You remember?” Dark mumbled as the doors closed behind them.

“Not everything, but I do remember most of it, dear Dark Knight,” He gave a little wink to Dark, who immediately groaned. 

“Did I ever tell you that you’re an imbecile?” They scowled softly as they walked down the street.

“Oh, probably dozens of times!” He laughed loudly, getting Dark to give a little unenthusiastic chuckle. 

“Well at least this experience won’t be completely unbearable," They noted, "Or at least it would be if I didn’t have to hold back Celine from killing you from the moment I saw you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment! Er- at least half a compliment, old sport!” He declared happily and walked ahead. “Come along now, I know a nice coffee shop not too far away from here where we can talk in private and still get a nice chai tea with milk! That was an old favorite for you both, now wasn’t it?” He cajoled knowingly.

Dark hummed, a true and soft laugh managing to escape from their throat, “I believe it was…”


	5. Time to Talk

Wilford guided Dark to a cafe he knew of around the corner, one he would sometimes go to in the morning if he wasn’t too hungover or bushed to walk. He instructed his old friend to pick any seat in the nearly empty shop as he handled their orders. Dark nodded softly as they picked a little table near the back, seating themself comfortably against a wall. He smiled at the twins’ old mannerisms, his eyes picking out the little details he had noticed over a lifetime ago - straightening the coat impulsively, fingers running over nails before fingers laced into each other, eyes fixating on one object after the next in an impatient idle. He chuckled as he took the completed drinks from the employee, shooting them a familiar wink before walking over to Dark. 

“I wasn’t sure if you’d want no sugar or too much sugar, so I just got you some sugar packets instead,” He jested as he put the tea in front of them with a handful of sugar packets before sitting down with his specially made pink mocha. 

“Neither do I honestly,” They admitted as they slid the cold brew closer, “The taste buds are quite finicky when they’re not yours.” He took a small hesitant breath before giving themself a taste. They continued the sip, then took a sigh of relief, “Thank god Damien’s sweet tooth isn’t ruining this drink.” 

Wilford chuckled nervously, “So am I talking to…?”

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood right now, William. Otherwise, I wouldn’t tolerate your foolishness,” A harsh yet femininely flamboyant tone replied before taking another sip.

“Oh come off it, you both were always fans of my fooling around! Just for… different reasons,” He took a quick sip of the mocha, admittedly burning the tip of his tongue.

“I don’t need the mental images of whatever she qualifies as your "fooling around",” A tired and calmer voice responded. 

“Fair enough… But do try to tolerate me for the time being, won’t you?” He blew on his coffee before taking a long sip, really enjoying the taste of his cotton candy coffee mixture. He sighed and relaxed, and with it a bit of his aura escaped him, permeating the room like pink and yellow dye drops entering the water. 

Dark looked at him with surprise, eyes fixated on the pink for a moment before looking at the employees. They were about to voice their concerns when Wilford put up a hand to stop them. 

“I know, they know.” Wilford raised a brow in amusement, “You honestly expect me to be so idiotic that I would take you to a place I don’t trust? I said we could relax, and that means letting whatever this is loose…" he looked back at the mist as he spoke of it, shooting Dark a curious look back, "You can too if you have one that is.” 

Dark scratched their nails against the ceramic cup for a moment, nervous as their eyes darted to the employees and back. “I don’t know… Are you sure?” 

“Positive old chap. They know me, and they know if you’re with me that nothin’ bad will happen. Plus, it’s not like they’ll remember in the morning anyway,” He playfully reminded with an eye roll. He saw that joke only made Dark tenser, and dropped the attitude for a moment before adding a simple and soft, “Trust me. You could always do that, right? I promise,” He let his hand slide over the table and gave Dark an open, up-facing palm. “Trust me,” He reminded with a small and patient smile.

Dark stayed silent, looking down at his coffee cup in a panicked fixation. His eyes glanced over to Wilford’s offered hand a few times - Celine was never one for PDA or hand-holding when she was stressed, but Damien was desperate for touch when he panicked. Dark’s hand slowly hovered over his, their fingers just barely resting in Wilford’s. Their eyes closed with a forced sigh in an attempt to relax, stretching and cracking their neck to let out a pitch-black energy that crepitated out of their body like thunder from a storm. Their body emitted two phantasmal mirrors of themself, one red and the other blue, constantly hovering in circles inches away from the grey source. Wilford watched in amazement as Dark kept breathing, getting more comfortable with each breath. Their fingered curled into Wilford’s soft and slow, surprising him as he heard a soft ringing like that of electricity pulsing through the walls permeate the room, deafening the smooth jazz that played throughout the cafe. They eventually let out a sigh, voice layered over itself a near-infinite amount of times in a constant echo, “That’s much more comfortable…” 

“What’d I say, old chap?” Wil pulled himself away as he relaxed in his chair, throwing his legs over the edge of the table and taking more sips of his mocha. “Just need to relax.”

“So you did,” Dark concurred, sipping their tea as they both watched the ends of their auras meet and blend into one another; the tails of the pink and yellow spirals rippling through the obsidian murk, and the black crackles occasionally reaching out into the bubblegum brume and pulling some in until the two had converged into a neutral ground of a diluted rosewood mist. 

“So,” Wilford reminded, “Back to work, old chap?” 

“Indeed,” Dark affirmed, straightening themself up in their chair as they put the tea down. “We have much to discuss.”

“Well, what exactly do you remember from last night?”

“Mostly things I already knew, repeating days, it definitely resets at 5, consistencies and inconsistencies…” They looked to Wilford oddly, “And you woke up hungover?”

“Yeah,” Wilford grumbled a bit at the reminder, his headache pushing its way back into his mind, “It doesn’t matter what I drink or don’t drink, I always wake up hungover.”

“You’ve certainly gotten better at hiding it,” Dark quipped with subtle amusement, swishing the tea around in their cup.

“It’s more so that the medicine isn’t adding to the problem anymore,” He chuckled, thinking back on the days when a cough meant you could down a shot of vodka, maybe take a hit of cannabis if it was really bad, and claim it made you feel better.

Dark sighed, “I think that was a you problem more than a time problem.”

Wilford huffed a large laugh that echoed throughout the empty cafe, “I see time hasn’t changed you either then, old sport!” 

Dark humphed at him softly, their thumbs rubbing roughly against any knuckles they could reach, “I think it’s quite drastic considering.” 

“Well maybe physically, but that’s about it,” He gives a soft toast to the sky before taking a sip, “But deep down, yer both still yourselves. That’s all that matters to me.” 

Dark shifted their eyes with a hum, clearly distracted, “You’re... too kind, Wil.” 

Wilford cleared his throat and sat up in his chair, “I recall you said something about taking notes?” He let his elbow rest on the table as he gave Dark an open palm, “Care if I take a look?”

“Of course,” Dark hummed, reaching into their jacket and pulling out a little black leather notebook, loose papers and envelopes sticking out the side, a fancy silver “D” etched into the corner. Wilford smiled at the book, it was nice to know that Damien or maybe Celine had kept gifts from their past. Wilford took the book in his hands, barely able to fit the journal in his palms. 

“Start from the ribbon, earlier notes are… unrelated,” Dark muttered softly. 

Wilford was more than curious to see what was in the earlier notes but deemed it better not to joke around for the time being. He took the pages under his nails as he flipped to the silver ribboned bookmark, already seeing the twins flip between handwriting techniques as the broadest term got turned into the more exquisite of details. He was lucky to have so much practice reading their writings and collaborative efforts, otherwise, this would be nothing more than jumbled nonsense. He skimmed through the nights, seeing Dark had noticed the resetting and keeping track of how many times they thought they went through it - around 23 tick marks collecting throughout the pages.

“There’s not a lot, mostly details and little things,” Dark flipped through the pages for Wilford, impatient. “Except this,” they affirmed, presenting a page almost filled with graphite as they tried to recreate what appeared to be a crack in the middle of the air. “I only saw it once, but I know it had to be important. I found it around 4:55 am and was able to sketch this down before it reset. Other than that, I have no idea what it means.”

Wilford hummed and focused on the background, squinting as he recognized the overhang of the building behind it, “That’s Dave’s bar, where I work… Is that why you’re always lurking around there so late?” 

Dark nodded, “I would find myself drawn to that building no matter what I did, even if I didn’t look at my notes.” 

Wilford hummed, “We could try and stake it out, but I don’t think my bandmates would be too happy about me abandoning them all night so I can be right outside the bar.”

“You joined a band?”

“Eh, “band” is a loose word,” Wilford chuckled. “We’re more like dancers that pick out the music we wanna dance to, and sometimes lip-sync.” 

“Is that your dream career?” Dark deadpanned with a glare.

Wilford rolled his eyes playfully, “And what about you, fancy pants? What you’ve been doing?” 

“With Mark considered dead, I’ve been living off his will money,” Dark admitted. “He started a new life and thinks no one will notice that he has the same name and voice. He’s grateful the public is too stupid and blind to figure out his true identity.”

“And that’s better than spending some time havin’ fun?” 

“IT’s better than fooling around,” They mumbled harshly, almost crushing the cup in their hands before taking a large sip. Wilford was unsure how many meanings that sentence was supposed to have, and was terrified that she very well could’ve ended his life if he wasn’t the only other person aware of what was happening - that and he guessed the resetting made death a little more meaningless. Dark seemed to calm down after a moment, putting the cup down. “I suppose that’s fair. I can let you know if anything happens.”

Wilford pouted, “You could come into the club sometime, you know? Have a drink, a little fun, maybe dance? That is if waiting outside gets boring.” 

“I don’t dance, and certainly not with you, William,” They huffed. “I’d rather wait outside and investigate.”

“It was only a suggestion,” He sighed, closing the book and sliding back across the table. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where I am.”

Dark took the little book back, slipping it back into their suit. “I take it you’re done by midnight?” 

“No. Technically I can leave by ten earliest, but I usually stay until one or so with the other patrons.”

Dark hummed, “Well then can you meet me out back by midnight at least?” 

“I can try, no guarantees though old sport.” He finished off his mocha in a few more gulps, letting the cup rest on the table. “What should we do until then?” 

“Just note unusual phenomena, anything that doesn’t seem right,” They looked back for a moment and corrected themself, “Outside of this. Though I have to admit, I didn’t know how to react to your… smoke.”

“Smoke?” Wilford chuckled, “Some witchy lady I once knew would’ve called it an aura er something.”

“Don’t push your luck, William.” 

He faked a humph and hunched over, “Right. And how come you can call me William, but I can’t call you Damien or Celine?” 

“Enough, Wil,” they enunciated, voices of all sorts overlapping in a clear rage, getting up from his seat. 

“Alright okay, I’m sorry. Just curious,” He threw up his hands as a sort of truce before joining them in getting up, “What will you do until then?”

“Prepare for the worst.” 

“Ah,” Wilford hummed, “Well, you’re free to come with me to my apartment. I know it’s a little messy, but maybe then we could talk about-!” 

“I would rather not,” Dark gritted through their teeth, grabbing his cane and rubbing the top of the fake diamond handle roughly. “Maybe another time.” 

“Right,” Wilford murmured, honestly a bit disappointed. “Well… I guess I’ll… catch you later then,” He tried to say delicately, hoping he hadn’t riled either of them too much.

Dark nodded, looking around them and taking a deep breath. Wilford copied his movement, knowing exactly what he wished to do. Dark pulled in their aura harsh and quick, receding from Wilford’s like a crashing wave on the shore flowing back into the sea. Dark gave him one final look before stepping out of the coffee shop, down in the opposite direction of anything Wilford’s way. 

Wil just sighed, his aura pulling back into himself calmly. He grabbed a lightly sugared donut before he stepped in through the bathroom and ending up right back at his apartment - a shortcut he used quite frequently. He unlocked the door from the other side and stepped in, seeing the mess he left behind. He grumbled and just snapped his fingers instead, all the garbage seeping through convenient holes; normally he wouldn’t indulge himself in such lazy behavior, but he had a feeling that he would need the extra energy trying not to get himself killed by the only pair he respected more than anyone else. He flopped down on the couch and ate his donut slowly, trying not to overwork his senses about tonight.

*************

He bowed with a smile at 10, the band announcing that the stage was free before dispersing through the bar. Wilford meandered over to the bar with his martini glass, eager to get a little drink and relax for a while. 

“You did great as ever, Wilf!” Dave smiled, leaning over the bar and hugging him. 

“Thanks, old boy!” Wilford smiled and pulled away, leaving his glass on the bar. Dave had already prepared a refill for him, filling it to the top with a red umbrella. Although Wilford was a bit upset, he knew the pink umbrellas had run out by now, taking a little sip. He looked at Dave, “Hey, can I ask you a question old sport?” 

Dave hummed in curiosity, “What is it?”

“How are you supposed to react to a… an old ex and an old friend?” 

Dave raised an eyebrow, “They in here?” 

“No no, thank god,” Wilford chuckled. While he knew both the twins enjoyed his antics, he was more than positive that together they had formed a combined annoyance for it. “We met earlier today… and we’re meeting later tonight. How do you suppose I make them,” He struggled for words as his face scrunched up, cringing at his past actions, “ _Not_ … hate me? Or at least not enough to _kill_ me, might I add.” 

Dave seemed lost, “Someone out there actually _hates_ you? Small world.” Dave hummed as he cleaned the empty glasses, “I suppose talking helps, being your bubbly self, making light of dark situations, don't repeat any mistakes… stuff like that.”

Wilford groaned, “I feel like my bubbly self is what’s ticking them off though. And any mistake was never on my part.” _It’s not my fault that they fuckin’ vanished into thin air back at that old manor. Or that either of them suffered this long on their own… right? I mean they have each other, but… well god knows being attached to your sibling would be fucking unbearable. Still, none of that is my fault!_ He shook off the thoughts, “I just want to be friends with them again, but that seems so impossible now…” 

“Just give it time then,” Dave suggested. “Nothing heals better than time - or as you say, a good apology - maybe even both then.”

Wilford groaned again, _Time is the one thing we don’t have. That or we have an exceedingly large amount of it to go over and over again. Even if I do apologize, what would be for? Trying to make them happy?_ He looked up at his friend, “Well… thanks, chap.” 

“Of course,” Dave hummed. “If you ever need anything, you know I’m always right here.” 

Wilford nodded before taking a sip of his martini. He looked up at the clock, seeing it was only half-past ten. He got up and stretched, “Welp. Guess I better make a good second impression. Can’t be too early, can I?”

Dave looked shocked, “When are you meeting them, anyway?” 

“They said midnight latest, sooooo... why not?” He tried to keep positive as he grabbed his stuff and headed out the back. 

“Keep me posted on what happens out there, ‘kay?” Dave called out to him.

“Will do!” He instinctively responded, walking out the door and immediately leaning on the wall next to it. Dark had arrived not a moment sooner, throwing their eyebrows up in surprise.

“You’re early,” They stated, almost as if that concept was new to them.

“Yep. Figure we wanna knock out this mystery as quickly as possible, right?” He got up from the wall, showing nothing but confidence and determination. “Let’s get to it, old friend.”


	6. Killing Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pssst! This is filler.  
> You can just... You can just skip this one.

Wilford hummed with a stretch, arm instinctively reaching over for painkillers as he felt a headache emerge. He raised an eyebrow as he looked over and saw his hand hovering above the cane. He sat up and took the cane in his hands, taking a deep breath as he remembered it all: finding his old friends squished into one, his memory of the lengthy detailed notes about the universe repeating, their deal to meet at his workplace so that they could return each other's items. It was starting to become a routine at this point, his memory seeming to get better with each day. He hummed and put the cane back down by the note, not much memory attached other than a reminder to go to work early. 

He kept a tune in his head as he fixed his hair and face to look clean, even taking a bit of extra time to comb out his stache - who’s bubblegum infection was nearly taking over all the black in the handlebar whiskers, just millimeters from overtaking the dip under his nose. He tugged his hair into a little bun in the back, peeling off his dancing clothes for their wash before slipping into new ones. He begrudgingly put in his contacts, a bit upset with his past self for giving up his glasses. He always did prefer his glasses over contacts, as he felt more comfortable with them and could debate he could see more with them. Though maybe after this whole thing blew over, he’d plan with a professional for laser eye surgery. 

_After everything blows over,_ Wilford’s thoughts echoed throughout his mind, a pit of worry nestling its way through his psyche. He had been separated from his friends for so long, that seeing them alive and well still messed with his head. It filled him with a sense of glee and realism that he had faked recovery of for so long, part of him didn’t want to go back. From what he had noticed, or remembered rather, Celine and Damien wanted nothing more to do with him after this debacle was dealt with. And while yes, he couldn’t blame either of them for not wanting to see him again after the mess at the Manor, he couldn’t help but hope that they could remain friends after this. 

He looked at himself in the mirror, mentally preparing himself to try again on this day. He straightened his suspenders before taking the cane and heading down to the club. He stepped out with regret, the sun blinding him and causing his headache to level up to a full-blown migraine. He groaned as it struck him, he forgot to take his painkillers. He slipped the cane under his armpit as he searched his bag for any consolation for relief. He rolled his eyes and reached farther in, his arm shoulder-deep in the little bag as he felt his bedside table. He hummed as he reached in farther, trying to pick up any little spare pill that fell to the floor. He instantly perked as he felt the bottle and pulled it through. It was less than half full, but it was all he needed. He let his bag drop to his side as he popped two little white pills in his mouth, sighing with the thought that maybe the headache would subside enough before he met Dark that day. 

He sat down at the steps of the club, kicking his feet with anticipation. He racked his brain for any details about them that he could remember. He had been trying to keep track of sore spots and topics not to bring up around the two. The twins were both very peculiar and headstrong people, but this new version of themselves was nearly impossible to crack. He knew better than to ask about Mark and the Manor, no matter how much he wanted to. Surprisingly, he wasn’t _that_ much of a lumbering oaf not to notice how much even beginning to mention such a topic seemed to wind them up. However there were smaller things that threw him off: the scuffling of his feet if they managed to drag across the concrete, taking a minute away from the search for a little window shopping, the smell of alcohol fresh on his breath, and let’s not exclude every time he attempted to crack a joke or lighten the mood. It always seemed to tick them off in one way or another, and it made Wiford feel a little on edge. Obviously not enough to make him close the pipeline of words and witty jokes that seemed to seep out of his mouth, but it did make him a bit more cautious about what he said. 

He sighed and let a smile overtake his face as he saw Dark brooding down the sidewalk, the look on his face telling Wilford that they already recognized them before they had reached him for the exchange. They exchanged their items before they walked side by side to the cafe. 

Wilford kept his grin as he attempted some small talk, “So, how’d you rest last night?” 

Dark murmured, “Didn’t sleep. I tried to stay up through the reset.”

“How’d that work out for ya, champ?” 

“Not well,” They grumbled, “I would’ve made it too if Damien…” They trailed off and took in a harsh and deep breath, “Whatever. I guess it doesn’t matter,” They turned to Wilford, “And your morning?” 

“Ehhh,” He shrugged and gave an in-between motion with his hand, “I forgot my painkillers this morning so I wasn’t doing so hot for a while.”

“I take it you found some sort of remedy for that problem?”

“I have my ways,” He chuckled smugly and opened the door for them, doing a grand wave of his hand to the inside with a curtsy. They gave him a soft scoff as they entered, Wilford’s smile drooping a little as he followed suit. He went to the front and ordered their average orders, seeing Dark sit in the all too familiar spot against the wall. He hummed as he paid, getting the orders and heading to the table. 

Dark had already gotten out their notes, flipping between through a few pages. Wilford hummed, his curiosity peaking as he saw Dark had flipped to the sections before the ribbon bookmark, marking down a few things before going back and forth between the two spots. Wilford sat down at the table, sliding over Dark’s cup as he took a sip of his drink. He looked over and caught his own name being written a few times on each of the pages, well what he assumed was his name from their messy handwriting. He hummed as he noticed that they had written down his old name, even writing Colonel a few times, his chosen alias in quotation marks whenever it appeared. It was then Dark looked up and shut the book harshly, surprising Wilford with a jolt, the hot mocha swishing in his mug and almost escaping it. 

“Did you find anything new?” Dark grumbled. 

Wilford hummed quizzically, putting his mug down, “Since yesterday? Nope. Things are the same as they always have been.”

Dark groaned and leaned over the table, hand keeping their head up as their fingers tangled in their dark locks. “This is getting ridiculous. I feel like we’ve been here forever.” 

“Well hey now, it’s only been about a week. Give it some time,” He reassured.

“You know we can’t, William,” they growled through their teeth.

Wilford was a bit annoyed but knew better than to get angry with Celine, or Damien for that matter. He took in a quick breath, “I’m just saying, us getting out of this ain’t gonna be a one and done thing. We’re gonna be stuck for a while, but eventually, we’ll figure it out. As long as we stick together, I’m sure of it.” 

Dark looked up at Wilford, leaving him unable to read the expression in his eyes. Dark sighed loudly and tiredly mumbled, “I suppose you’re right. I’m just so sick of this… I thought I was done with all this, but,” Dark cut himself off, leaving Wilford hanging for an explanation. 

“Oh?” Wilford hummed, picking up his cup for a little sip, “Care to elaborate?”

Dark growled at him lazily, “Not here, not now…”

“Later tonight perhaps?” Wilford shrugged, “If our hunting night goes on as it did before, then I doubt we’ll have anything else to talk about.” 

“We won’t have anything to talk about because we should be focusing on how to get out,” They hissed through clenched teeth. 

Wilford chuckled softly, “Always focused on the mission, or rather the task. You two never really change.”

Dark huffed, not bothering to correct him. He stood up from the table, eyes focused down. “Just. Be there at eleven. No jokes, no funny business, no talking. Just investigating.” 

Wilford groaned, “You know we could multitask just this once. I’d like to know a little more about what you’ve been doing all this time.” 

Dark rolled their eyes, “Just be there.” 

“Aye aye, Captain.” He earned another groan from Dark as he left, not even taking a sip of his tea. Wil sat at the table, leaning over as his headache only pounded against his skull even more. 

*************

Wilford slipped out of the back entrance of the bar, immediately met with a stern and blank-faced Dark, arms crossed. “You’re late.”

“To be fair, that’s not entirely my fault-!” He managed to get out before he overheard a loud feminine voice call for him. He groaned and pushed Dark out of the alley. “Come on, we don’t have all damn night, let’s go go go!”

Dark turned around and growled at him, “You were hitting on other women?!”

“Wha-! Agh-!” He scoffed. “No! Other women were hitting on me!” He quickly corrected, jolting as one of the more hammered flirters stumbled through the door with a giggle. He quickly hid behind the dumpster, seeing Dark quite confused as the woman stumbled around.

“Pinky? W’urd you go?” She hiccupped and staggered towards them, “I thaw we wur really hitt’n’ it off…” Dark glanced over at him, making Wilord jolt with Celine’s undeniable stone-cold glare. Wilford made an x with his hands as a way to desperately get it across to Dark that he did not agree with anything she was saying, along with shaking his head and mouthing the word “no” over and over. The girl stumbled into Dark and looked up at them, giving them a drunken chuckle, “Heya hottie.”

Dark jerked back in clear confusion and shock, their cheeks deepening in a greyish hue. Wilford growled softly, her comment towards Damien and Celine had certainly ticked him off, maybe a bit too much. He wasn’t even aware of what he had done until he saw the girl falling through a hole in the ground that didn’t belong there, and probably never ended.

“William!” Dark squealed at him, a hint of Celine’s voice peeking through.

“What?” He waved it off as he got up, “She’ll be back tomorrow, and she won’t even remember a thing.”

“That doesn’t give you a valid reason to send her-!” They stopped in the middle of what they were screaming about for a brief moment of confusion. “Where does that hole go anyways?”

Wilford shrugged, “Hell if I know.” 

Dark groaned, “Well I guess it’s not your worst way of getting rid of someone you flirted with.” 

“I didn’t flirt with her!” He groaned, “All these years later and you _still_ don’t believe that I don’t just go around flirting with people!”

“Because you do!”

“Not intentionally!” 

Dark rolled their eyes, “Come on, let’s just get going. And take off that wig, you look absurd.”

“What if I like absurd?” Wilford grumbled a bit as he dusted off his clothes of any garbage, following Dark out of the alley. He walked by Dark’s side, up and down the street that inhabited his place of work. He looked over every now and then, seeing Dark still a bit angered by what happened in the alleyway. He hummed, “So… what’d you do for the rest of the day?”

Dark looked over briefly, “The usual, just keep an eye on things and other areas of unusual activity. Nothing really stuck out today.”

Wilford nodded in thought as they reached the corner of the street. “Why don’t we stroll around the park? Maybe there’ll be something new there.” 

Dark grumbled, “I don’t think anything would happen over there at this hour.”

“Isn’t that more reason to check if it does?”

“I… suppose.” 

Wilford smiled as he took their hand and practically dragged them across the street, “Excellent! There’s also such a lovely view of the stars there! It might be fun!”

“Wil,” Dark growled as they reached the other side of the street, harshly taking their hand out of Wilford’s grip. “Must I remind you this is strictly business?”

“Oh, a little walk in the park wouldn’t kill you!” He insisted as he walked through the trees, “Besides, along with the stars, there’s a great view of the city as well!” 

Dark groaned softly, taking in a deep breath as they followed Wilford through the trees. Wilford led the way through the soft grass, past the playground meant for the nearby school. 

He hummed as Dark made their way by his side, “So, you gonna tell me more about what you said earlier?”

Dark raised an eyebrow, “Earlier?”

“You said something about bein’ done with all this,” He started, seeing Dark tense up a bit, “That gives me the impression you’ve done all this before. And when I asked about it, you said you’d “tell me later,” Wilford sassily waved his arms as he did his best impression of their broody tone. “And well, now’s later.” 

Dark huffed softly under their breath, hugging themselves as they tried to keep up with Wilford. “I… well no, I guess she… I mean he…” Dark struggled to speak. Wilford looked over and saw a fight that was being subsided by confusion hiding deep in their eyes, maybe even behind them. “I… Celine was trying to keep Damien alive… I did all I could, tried to make his days seem peaceful, but it was repetitive… cutting down the same trees over and over again,” They held their head, “She was just trying to help me, but… she didn’t know that I or he just wanted to help her even more… even though they’re both… No, wait, that I’m just...” 

“Hey,” Wilford stopped and turned his whole body back to Dark, who was starting to shake and tug at their hair. Wilford gently put his hands to theirs, uncurling their fingers out of their hair and putting their hands down, face up in front of him. “It’s okay… I’m sorry I pried.” He kept his eyes down and focused on their hands, letting his thumb run over the palm. “It’s just… It’d been so long since I had seen either of you. I just want to know what happened all that time, and how long that was for you… Obviously, we don’t need to talk about it now, but…” He let go of Dark’s hands before letting one of his own cautiously drift up to Dark’s cheek. “Soon… right?” 

Dark took a large breath, gently pushing Wil’s hand away from his face, curling his thumb softly over the fingers. “There was a flower,” Dark started again before he looked up to meet Wil’s gaze. “A little pink one… I couldn’t help but think of you when I saw it… just a little five-petaled flower that sprouted up in the snow.”

Wilford hummed a chuckle, playing with his wig a little, “Now I wonder what could’ve led to that connection.”

Dark let out a soft empty chuckle, a grin passing by their lips for a moment before it quickly faded away. “What about you, Wil? What did you do all this time? I certainly hope it was more than just dancing.”

Wilford just shrugged, “Well I traveled quite a bit around the world, had fun keepin’ one identity then tossing it out for the next, I only recently settled down here… oh, it must have been three years er so.” He dragged out a chuckle, “My cover didn’t last very long, but at least I don’t need to worry about bein’ caught anymore!”

“What do you mean?” 

He looked over shyly, “Um… Remember Abe?” 

“Abe?” Dark repeated, “You mean the detective?” 

“The one and only,” He hummed as he continued walking along the grassy path. “He found me after the first year I had settled down here. We talked about what happened, or what he remembers at least, got through some things, hell we even danced a little before he went back into his own world.” He twirled the end of his mustache in thought, “I wonder what he’s doin’ nowadays… If I knew where he was, I’d say we stop by. He might’ve been able to shed some light on this.”

“I doubt it,” Dark growled under their breath. “I’ve been at this for god knows how many times, and the closest thing I got to an answer was that crack.”

“Maybe you just need a different view,” Wilford shrugged as he slipped through a row of trees, climbing up to the top of a steep hill with Dark lagging behind. Wilford reached the top first, taking a deep breath as he took in all around him. The circle of trees just barely hid the city skyline, skyscrapers cutting into the light-polluted sky. He looked up into the void of stars and matter that made the night sky, the moon giving him a tiny grin as the brightest light among it all. 

He heard Dark panting a bit as they reached the top with him. “Look,” Wilford smiled back at them before waving up towards the sky, “I can see our stars from here.”

“Our stars?” Dark queried as they stepped up next to Wil.

“You don’t remember?” Wil huffed a soft laugh, “And I thought my memories were bad… We used to sneak up to the roof and point them out to each other when summer would start.” He pointed out the few stars in the sky that they could still see. “Mine is the little one next to the moon. A bit hard to see, but still bright as ever. Those two over there are yours, the twin with the long foot is Damien’s, and clearly Celine’s is the one with the bright and brash knee. And that one is-!” 

Wilford stopped in his tracks as pointed out the brightest star in the sky. He almost said his name without thinking. “Well,” He shakily put his arm down and chuckled nervously, “I guess you don’t really want to recall the past that much, do you?”

“I know you were going to say Mark.”

Wilford jolted as he heard the tenseness hidden in their voice. 

“And I knew you were going to bring up the manor.” 

Wilford gave Dark a half-hearted laugh, “Is that because you know me so well, or have we gone through this all before and you didn’t tell me?”

“The former,” Dark answered, putting a hand to Wil’s shoulder. “I understand you want to reminisce about the times we’ve had in the past,” Their hand tightened its grip on Wilford’s shoulders, and with it, their tone hardened, “But I don’t. I just want us to get out of here. And after that...” 

Wilford was hopeful of what they’d say next, his heart perking up at the mention of a possible “afterwards.” He glanced over to try and look at Dark, but could barely see the tip of their nose. 

They let go, gently shoving him forward. “Well… We’ll see when that time comes.” They walked past Wilford, “Now come on, I’d like to get at least some smidgen of work done tonight.”

Wilford looked at them longingly as they started to climb down the hill. His heart was left floating with the hope that maybe somewhere within them, Celine may not hate him enough to banish him from their life forever. He gathered his breath as he followed behind them, “Yer the boss, Applesauce… with a bit of cinnamon powder and honeydew dro-”

“If you don't stop calling us her pet names, I’m gonna sew your mouth shut.”

“Fair enough.”


	7. Exhaustion

Wilford woke up in his room, groaning with a massive headache. It wasn’t even a surprise anymore when he reached for pain killers and instead felt a cane. He hummed and took the cane over to his chest, rubbing his thumb over the top like he had seen Damien do many times. He got up and got on with his usual routine, cleaning himself up and putting on a simple outfit before even considering looking at the note. He turned it over on the back, refamiliarizing himself with the notes new and old. 

_Day 21: Uneventful to the very end. Little words spoken, not as much progress as day 7._ He took a pencil and underlined a note from the aforementioned night, _Don’t mention the train, or the manor, or Abe(?)._ He then added a few questions and theories connecting to each subject before putting it down on the list of sore spots. 

He let out a long groan as he flopped back onto his messy bed. He just wanted them to be friends again, or at least keep in touch when this was all finished. He knew fairly well that all their focus was on escaping the loop, but what would happen afterward? That was her only flaw - Celine that is - she liked looking at the future immediately ahead as opposed to the long term. It was a problem she and Wil shared when they were… well, guess that doesn’t matter much now, does it?

He put the note back in its place before heading out with the cane. He walked out to Dave’s bar and plopped down on the steps. Based on his track record, Dark should be coming very soon for their repeating grab for coffee. 

He twirled the cane in his hands out of sheer boredom, his other arm supporting his head over his shoulder. The very most they would ever do was talk about their hopeless situation and the same stale information while never having even a sheer amount of fun, all of which was admittedly growing weary on poor Wilford’s mind. It was like the only time he was tolerated was when he stayed as focused and professional as possible, and oh how impossible that was. He knew that Damien nor Celine would ever agree on a moment of fun with such a big problem at hand, so he had kept his mouth shut. 

He couldn’t afford to make Dark angry, he can’t afford to have them hate him again. He let the cane stop in its spinning and sag to the ground, his whole body following in a slumped over position on the stairs with a sigh. He rubbed his eyes in an attempt to stay awake, but knowing he’s been up until 5 am doing anything _but_ partying-til-you-drop definitely left Wilford tired and unenthused. The pressure from trying to stay serious all the time around Dark was even more exasperating. He tried to collect himself with a deep breath, a part in his mind screaming at himself to stay strong, even if it hurt him. It’s what they needed him to be, it’s what he needed to be if he expected them to stay in touch afterward. 

He eventually looked over, seeing Dark walking towards him from down the sidewalk. Wilford got up with a stretch, wordlessly extending his arm out with the cane. Dark seemed hesitant this time, slowly taking back the cane as they handed back Wil’s glasses. Wil just held the glasses in his hands before putting them away in his bag. He dug his hands into his pocket as he started to walk down the street, inviting Dark to follow with a simple tilt of his head as he looked back. They walked together, admittedly though Wilford was keeping a pace to be in front of Dark. He didn’t want them to see any of the sleep slipping away from his mind, or the strain of words and topics compiling at the back of his throat.

They stepped through the door, Wilford keeping it open just enough for Dark to slip through behind him. Wilford was about to walk up and order their drinks when Dark stopped him, a surprisingly gentle hand on his shoulder. “I can get the drinks this time, Wil. You go take a seat.”

Wil was genuinely surprised at the change but nodded all the same. He watched as Dark ordered the drinks, and looked out to the restaurant. He picked out his seat from when he used to go there alone, a quaint little window seat with a lovely view of the flower bushes that sat just outside the shop, as well as the open intersection with the park just across the way. He hummed as he saw the children who were just let out of school frolic and play among the trees and the playground, an occasional squeal of delight piercing through the glass. Just seeing the pure joy in others was enough to make him crack a well deserved grin. 

He straightened up himself as he saw Dark approach with their orders. Wilford offhandedly noted that they were the same tea that he normally got for Dark - which he didn’t mind since his usual was a special order he invented, name and all. He watched as Dark sat down, looking out the window. 

“This is a nice spot,” Dark muttered softly. 

“I’m glad you think so, it’s one of my favorites,” He mumbled back, taking a sip of his tea. He was able to taste the amount of sweeteners thrown in with cinnamon sprinkled in for flavor. It was a sweet jest - maybe even a touch too sweet - and he threw Dark a little smile, “Thank you, friend.” 

Dark hummed and took a sip of their own tea, pulling away with disgust. They pulled out some sugar packets and poured some in before trying again. They sighed with relief, making Wilford giggle softly at Damien’s sweet tooth overriding Celine’s lack thereof. 

“Make any recent discoveries or any oddities sticking out since yesterday?” Wilford hummed.

“Not that I’m aware of,” Dark responded, pulling out their book along with a pencil that had been taped multiple times over. “And you?” 

“Nothing outside of the ordinary and us,” He hummed, and looked at the pencil. He gazed at it while he spaced out, too tired to take in Dark mumbling their notes. Wilford arched an eyebrow when he stopped zoning out, noticing something peculiar. “Is that a new pencil?” 

“No?” They looked at Wilford oddly before they realized the tape, kinda shocking themself as they dropped it on the table. 

Wilford picked it up, trying his best not to admire the irony of the moment. “A broken pencil gets fixed by morning… That’s what you said first round over, right?” He looked over at Dark, “So why didn’t this one?” 

As he was examining it, it felt as if he had been hit with a static shock in his fingertips, causing him to drop it back on the table. They watched as the tape cracked and fell off, disappearing into the table as the pencil’s crack mended. Dark hesitantly reached for the pencil, picking it up and testing the bendability. 

“What… what does this mean?” Dark squinted at it. 

“Isn’t it obvious, old sport?” Wilford lifted an eyebrow, Dark turning their head instinctively. “Whatever’s keepin’ us here, repairin’ yer pencils and refilling my liquor, resetting our memories… it’s gettin’ sloppy,” He said with confidence, pointing to the pencil again, “And if it’s getting _that_ sloppy, it must be getting weaker too.” 

Dark seemed to become enthusiastic at the mere insinuation. “That means we could get out of here, out of this loop!” They began jotting down what had just happened in the book. “We should try and meet up again as soon as possible, come back with anything else we notice.” 

Wilford hummed, “I suppose so.” He wasn’t quite as excited to go searching for inconsistencies all night as Dark may have been, but he knew that was exactly what they would want to do with this new information coming to light. 

“I’ll meet you outside the club at 10 sharp, okay?” Dark affirmed with a nod, not even getting a response out of Wilford before rushing out the door. 

Wil sighed and went back home in a flash - literally - only to crash down on his couch. He thought it better to sleep in his contacts and get some shut eye than not to at all. He thought about rethinking what he said, maybe not mentioning the ‘weaker’ idea. He grumbled and sighed, relaxing into the cushions as he waited for the time to pass over his head. 

**************

6 hours. They had been walking and surveying the neighborhood for _6 hours._ Wilford had kept his end of the deal, arriving as close to 10 sharp as he could before meeting with Dark. And maybe it was the dancing that tired him out, maybe it was the cold that was seeping under his sweat, maybe it was the restraint he had taken from alcohol; or maybe, _just maybe_ , it was the twenty-first time since they met that he had walked out of the club, gone on this wild goose chase, and found _nothing_. Either way, he had found himself cranky and angered, maybe even more so than his grayscale companion was at the moment. It was around 4:15, and both parties were clearly stressed out of their minds, taking a break at the corner.

“I don’t get it,” Dark stressed out between gritted teeth. “Why couldn’t at least one thing be different?” 

“At least we caught the pencil earlier,” Wilford reminded. “That isn’t nothing, it's still important.”

“But why nothing more? Why not something more obvious or weird, if it’s getting more sloppy then why aren’t more things out of place?”

“I don’t know,” He repeated, trying to stay calm. “Maybe we’ll find something better in the morning.”

Dark scoffed at him, “I don’t want to wait until morning. I want to get out of this damned place!” 

“You think I don’t?” He spat back. 

“That doesn’t excuse it,” They grumbled back, hand going over their forehead. “I’m so sick of this. I hate this loop, I hate this place, and I hate being stuck here with-!” Dark cut themself off, eyes widening as he looked over at Wil. 

Wilford already knew what they wanted to say. “With me,” He finished, his head tilted down towards the ground. “You hate being stuck here _with me_.” 

“N-no, that’s not what I was going to-!”

“Don’t fuck with me, Damien!” He growled back, his hands balling into fists. “You hate me! You both do!” He could feel his heart breaking as the words left his mouth, “You think I don’t fucking know how much you’d wish to be here with _anyone_ else?!”

“William-!”

“Don’t _William_ me!” He yelled, finally looking them in the eyes. He pointed his finger in their face as he enunciated, “Don’t lie to me and say it’s not true! That you don’t hate me with all your heart! That you wish you could just tear mine out and be done with it!” 

Dark growled and pushed Wilford’s hand down. “It’s not my fault you can’t be serious! You were never serious! Especially with something important!” This was clearly Celine reaching out, her voice overlapping the usual one, “You never took _anything_ serious! Not Damien, not Mark, not yourself, and sure as hell not me!” 

“You of all people know how difficult that is for me!” Wilford growled right back. “How difficult it is to try and be serious with you! With both of you! You have no idea how much I need to hold myself back from even cracking a joke around-” he gestured to Dark in an unsure manner before continuing, “-whatever the FUCK you two have become! No matter how serious I force myself to be, it just isn’t enough for either of you!” 

Dark seethed, and Wilford could see the aura fighting to stay within their body. “You’re pushing it, William,” Dark warned through their teeth, multiple more voices overlapping in a hissing tone.

“Pushing it, huh?” He questioned in disbelief, “Cause that’s all that has ever mattered to you, huh Celine? Whatever I did that pushed _you_ over the edge.”

**“I’m not her!”** They screamed, aura crackling out with voices echoing over each other. **“I’m not either of them!”** They punched Wilford in the shoulder, sending him flying into a brick wall. Wilford slid down the wall, only to feel Dark’s icy grip around his neck, pushing him into the ground. **“And I’ll never be them ever again!”**

Wilford grunted in surprise as he felt something pierce through him, a weapon all too familiar to him. He looked down to see Damien’s cane stricken through his body, right below his heart. 

Dark seemed to growl at him for a moment before realising what they had done, backing up in fear with the aura hesitently receding behind them. They seemed shocked at their own actions, “I-I…” 

Wilford had given up, he knew now that friendship would be impossible to reconvene between them. So maybe that’s why Wilford had stopped caring about what the world had thought about him - what Damien, Celine, or maybe even just Dark had thought about him. So he had no reason not to hide or push it back any longer, as he began to let water well up in his eyes, bountiful and full tears streaming down his face. 

“I just… wanted us to be friends again,” He choked and panted out in pain out as he sunk deeper into the garbage - as if that’s where he deserved to be. “Is that so much… to ask? That we could just… talk to each other… like we used to? Not have this whole… tension between us?” 

“William,” Dark let out softly, hands covering his mouth.

“I just,” He struggled to let out, partly due to his pride and the fact that he was bleeding out quite rapidly. “I just want my friends back… I missed you both so much… why can’t we just… start over?” He coughed out roughly, “Without all this hate and agony between us?”

“Wil… I…” Dark seemed lost for words, looking away from the crime scene they had created. “I don’t think we can do that… We can't just start over and be the people you want us to be, we’re not-!” Dark struggled to speak for a moment, one hand curling into their hair and tugging out a few strands before the other hand forced it down by their side. “They-…! We-! … I... I’m not those people anymore...” 

Wilford groaned and sat up from the garbage, pushing himself up slowly to his feet. “Well… then I guess that settles it then…” He held onto the cane that was buried under his stomach as he shuffled away.

“W-where are you going?” 

“I’m going home,” He admitted. “If we can’t be friends again, then it’s best we don’t see each other again.” 

“But you’re the only one who can help me get out of here!” 

“You’re smart,” Wilford struggled to walk. “I’m sure you can figure it out perfectly fine without me weighing you down.” 

“William get back here,” He could hear Dark approaching behind him, “You’re not going to get far out there with that injury.” 

“As long as I’m away from you, I don’t think it matters where I go! I’ll just wake up the same bumbling idiot I always am in the morning!” He laughed like the hysterical mad man he was before his giggles divulged into painful coughs filled with blood, “You should be happy! You can keep to yourself and your own serious wants without me!” 

Dark caught him as he started to fall forward. “William stop!” It pained Wil so much to hear both Damien’s worried tone and Celine’s defensive concern shining through in Dark’s voice, “You’re going to kill yourself trying to do this!”

“I don’t care anymore!” He yelled and pushed him away, falling into the ground and letting himself slip into a shortcut back into his old room. He panted on the bed and sat up, taking the cane by the handle and sharply inhaling through his teeth as he tried to pull it back out. He gasped with relief when he did manage to take out the wooden cane, passing out onto the bed. All the while he swore he could hear someone calling his name from outside, as if he had actually mattered to them at all. 

*************************************

He woke up in the morning, a slight headache and major chest pains. He reached over for his painkillers, only to feel a cane instead. He looked over solemnly, knowing exactly what that cane meant and who it belonged to. He just turned over in his bed, holding a pillow close to his chest as he began a deep sob for him to hold alone.

Alone. Again… He should’ve known better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...   
> >:3


	8. Softer Still Pt. 1

Wilford woke up, hungover. He groaned, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He had been getting pretty hammered day after day - which he found ironic after a point of discovering hungover Wilford did not match up with shitfaced Wilford, more of a regularly drinking Wilford if anything. So in a way, waking up this hungover was refreshing.

He got up and threw his clothes in the laundry before heading into the shower, a much more effective and lazier way to get ready in the morning he found. Not to mention how much time seemed to fly by in the shower, seconds into minutes, minutes into barely an hour. He walked out and dried himself up, putting on his foggy glasses as he walked out. 

As he wiped off the fog with the towel that contained his hair, he caught the cane in the corner of his eye. He hadn’t known how long it had been there, he had stopped keeping track of how long it had been since he had gotten himself in this situation. Maybe if he were lucky he could forget again, repeating the same, good day over and over until that good day was all he remembered about himself. However, his memories had barely faded from when he started trying to solve this matter with _them._ Even the mere mention of _them_ sent Wil into a cycle of sadness and grief that he promised himself he’d never be in again. Something he wished to never experience since he had left that accursed manor in a panicked madness.

He tore his eyes away from the cane. Despite all the turmoil, he felt from seeing it, he couldn’t bear to part with it. Not again. Dear God, please not again.

He continued with his day, trying to force himself to be productive, cleaning up maybe half the room before collapsing into his sofa. He felt only half alive, his waking part not being able to process anything more than wanting to lay there on the couch: Watching nothing, hearing nothing, feeling nothing. The only thing he felt contented to do was picking up bottles from the table that were not yet empty, whether they were beer bottles or vodka and rum from his stash didn’t matter to him. He just wanted them all to be as empty as he was. He sat there, barely moving unless he had to or he wanted to take a swig of a not yet empty bottle, the tv static on as some sort of soft background noise. 

This continued for a few hours, only getting up to put his clothes in the dryer and grabbing something small to eat. He had plenty of time to sober up before he needed to leave, or at least that’s what he was going to believe. Hell, if he wanted to he could stay there all day, no one would miss him or go searching for him. He could stay there and get half as shit faced as he would at the bar… Only half. Maybe that’s what got to him as he slowly sat up and stretched, getting ready to go to the club. 

He arrived early to the club, earlier than usual. Dave had said hi, probably, he honestly didn’t notice him that much. He had started setting up the lights on his own when his bandmates walked in. They finished their set up before going in for the rock paper scissor round, Wilford throwing down rock before they had even started the shoot. They looked at him confused as he feigned a happy response that he would take the back. They barely got a chance to say anything as he started to head for the bar, throwing a wave Dave’s way. 

Dave looked down at Wilford concerned, “Wilf? You okay there buddy?” 

“I jus’ got a bad rest last night,” he assured, “Could you just make me a little martini? You know, the usual? Please, Dave…” 

Dave put his hand on Wilford’s hand, as a little test before putting his hand on his head, “Are you sick? You shouldn’t be here if you’re sick.” 

“I ain’t sick Dave,” He grumbled, swatting the hand away. “I just want a drink. Is that so much to ask?” 

Dave squinted his eyes at Wilford, “Something’s up with you, Wilf. Come on, talk to me.” 

“Nothin’s wrong!” He reached over the bar and grabbed whatever bottle was closer, “I just want a damn drink!” 

“Wilford!” Dave growled and took the bottle back. “Something’s definitely up! You know better than to take from me like that!”

“I don’t care, Dave!” He growled.

“Wilford,” One of his bandmates meekly approached from behind him, “Maybe you should take a break today.” 

Wilford shook his head roughly, “I just want a damn drink! What’s so wrong with that?!” 

Dave took Wilford’s face by both his cheeks, looking deeply into his eyes, “You’re not okay. You need to go home.”

Wilford growled and pushed away from Dave, standing up. “You know what?! Fine! Whatever!” He huffed and stomped to the door, his bandmates parting meekly at this rare sight of rage. “I’ll just be back tomorrow and no one will even remember what happened anyway!” 

“Wilford... What the hell are you talking about?”

“Exactly!” He yelled and stormed out of the bar. He pushed out through the doors and away from the line of people that had been forming, ignoring all the ecstatic calls from regulars. He figured if this bar wouldn’t let him drown away his feelings, maybe some other bar would. He threw off his afro and tossed it in the trash, at this point he didn’t care where it ended up by morning. 

He kept stalking down the road until he had gotten over his anger, his harsh and fast pace stomping turning into slow and gentle drag across the concrete. He held his head and rubbed his temple, in retrospect that was a rather extra performance he had given them at the bar. If time wasn’t ass-backwards, he would be sure to give an apology. However, since time reset every day at five, he didn’t have to go back. In fact, he could keep going down this road forever and only stop once the clock hit. So that’s what he decided to do, to keep going on as far as time would let him, taking in the nice calm night air in his lungs and letting himself calm down further. It didn’t matter if his feet ached after what could only be an hour or so of walking, he was going to keep going until he eventually made it back to Dave’s bar - in a metaphorical sense that is, he knew the street itself wasn’t going to loop. Probably not at least, he hadn’t tried to figure that out before. 

He looked over to the light that he was standing at when it all happened, their split. The trash was undisturbed, light flickering softly in tune with the jaded crickets that sat comfortably in the concrete’s pockets of soil and leaves. It hurt his heart to think that could be the last time he would ever see Celine or Damien again, even worse than letting their deaths be tallied to that ungodly manor. He leaned against the opposing light post if only to let his feet rest for a moment. He thought about what had happened and what he had said over and over, but only this time was he able to connect it with a visual. He could watch himself be thrown into the garbage and sulk with that damned cane splitting apart his ribs, stumbling through the streets as he attempted to get away with whatever dignity they had left him with. 

He could feel the burn of the wood through his muscles still softly pulsing through his body, like a phantom had inflicted his pain over and over again. It certainly wasn’t the first time he had experienced it, after all his famous limp didn’t just appear out of nowhere. He could still very much remember showing off the bite marks from an attack on one of his safari hunts. He remembered watching Mark fall back and faint at the sight of it, enough to make him muster a chuckle. He also remembered the tender and gentle care Celine gave him when cleaning and rebandaging his wounds. It was so rare to see her become soft and quiet, unlike Damien who could barely muster a public speech at the time. Maybe that was one of the reasons he initially fell for her, her hidden kindness and genuine care for him. It hurt his heart even more to dwell on the remembrance of her smile. He huffed and forced himself to turn away from the scene in front of him, making him speed off with a soft, more noticeable stumble in his right leg.

He tried to forget, he tried to move on from his thoughts, he tried not to think about them; no matter what he did, his thoughts would always dwell back to them. He was like a burning and pungent flame sunk deep at the bottom of a cold and lonely well. The fire would always try to climb up somehow, making it up occasionally though the dead moss, only to dissipate in the air the second it reached the top. Back and forth between anger and pity, yelling and crying, demanding and pleading, frustration and repression. His mind wouldn’t accept it, it couldn’t accept it. He couldn’t forget, no matter how much they were forced out of his mind, the thoughts of Damien and Celine would flood back into his mind stronger than ever.

This battle kept raging in his mind, on the verge of letting his welled up tears and held in screams loose, when something sharp hit the back of his head. The clang of hollow metal rang through the air as he fell forward to the ground. His attacker continued to hit him over the head as his vision faded. He was barely able to hear the soft laughter permeating through the air as the beatings ceased.

_“It’s been quite a long time… hasn’t it, Colonel?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I split the chapter for tension, Don't hate me >:3


	9. Softer Still Pt 2

Wilford woke up with a groan, a headache was definitely present, but it was certainly no hangover. He heard the intense creaking of old wood and distant heartbeats surrounding him and looked up to see a house caked in darkness, the steps and rails echoing out a dark garnet red. Cracks similar to the one he had seen in Dark’s notebook seemed to emerge from every nook and cranny, some of the white light that shined through piercing into the remaining pitch. The way the stairs curled around the walls, the windows being segmented into diamond shapes and weaved into a simple round top, the elegant (and extremely tacky) chandelier that laid over his head: it only reminded him of one horrid place. 

He tried to move but found himself bolted to a rather fancy chair by his trim shirt and pants, still able to move his chest a little but not able to get up. As he looked further down he had to contain a gasp, letting his fingers extend out in sheer horror as he saw countless screws through scattered patterns on the back of his hands, some of them digging all the way through to his palms. His arms were shaking, his body too jacked up on something that kept him from feeling the pain in his hands. His fingers curled back in slowly as his mind began to panic, racing for any memory of how he could’ve gotten into such a terrible situation.

His head jolted upwards as he heard a figure clearing his throat, noticing now that a large table was placed in front of him. A figure dressed in red sat on the other side, sitting in something that appeared to have a large gold edge - though admittedly he couldn’t see well, he didn’t have his glasses and he honestly couldn’t feel his contacts anymore.

 _“Ah, I’m glad you’re finally awake… Colonel,”_ A voice seemed to sway with an unknown tune, _“I was wondering when you were going to come to.”_

He immediately became defensive, trying not to let his voice shake, “Who are you?”

The voice gasped in fake offense, _“I’m wounded William, truly. I thought you would know better than to ask questions you already know the answers to.”_ The figure seemed to fiddle with something in their hands. _”Though I… guess you're pretty blind without these.”_

Wilford straightened up as his glasses seemed to fling to his face, planting themselves firmly on his nose and behind his ears. He looked at the rims of them for a moment before even daring to look up to see his supposed captor, sitting smugly upon an elaborate throne. His eyes widened in disbelief as he saw the open smirk on the man’s face - No, Damien’s face. His eyes shined through to his true soul, a hint of a vile allure that Damien never possessed. So this could only be… 

“Mark?” He asked. 

_“Very good Colonel,”_ he cooed with a small bit of mockery in his tone, head tilting sweetly.

“H-how?” He asked shocked, “Y-you’re supposed to be dead! I-! … I shot you. In that roulette game, I-!”

 _“Shhhh,”_ He hushed Wilford for an unprompted amount of time, nearly hissing it through his grin. _“That is all left in the past now, isn’t it William?”_

Wilford was terrified, “Where am I? W-what do you want from me?”

 _“My my, so rash. Assuming I want something from you,”_ He chuckled and stood up, _“So smart too… No.”_ He started to walk over, around the table’s edge, _“I came here to apologize.”_

“Apologize?” He huffed out confused, squirming in his chair that he could feel himself being forced to stay in. 

_“Yes, William.”_ He hummed softly with a smile. _“My poor, sweet, suffering William…”_ He talked down to him, his voice swaying as if he were speaking to a baby.

“You never apologize,” He growled defiantly, his hands balling into fists despite the pain it caused. “You never apologized for anything! Even when we were kids, you never ever apologized!”

 _“Times are changing, old sport.”_ He calmly responded as walked behind Wilford and put his hands on his shoulders. _“You can’t say no to an… old friend, now can you?”_

Wilford hunched his shoulders and averted his gaze away from Mark, even though it hurt to move even a single muscle. “What. Do you want?” He gritted roughly.

 _“Oh William.”_ His fingernails started to dig into Wil’s shoulders, his tone getting a bit rougher, _“Poor, sweet, **stupid** William.”_ Mark lightened up his tone and his grip with a giggle, _“I came here to help you, to break you out of this nasty little time prison you “managed” to get yourself into,”_ He joked, a bit too knowingly for Wilford’s taste. _“And in return, I only ask of you to help me.”_

“Well what if I don’t want your stinkin’ help?” He growled, keeping his face turned away.

 _“Oh, you will.”_ Wilford felt a sort of metal orb under his jaw, his eyes widening as he saw it was Damien’s original cane. He barely had time to react before it turned his head to face Mark’s unchanging smile. _“Believe me, you will. And I am more than willing to give it to you. I only ask for one small thing in return.”_

“And that is?”

 _“I want you to play a part in my new story…”_ He pulled away, making a large gesture with his hand, _“A grand story, in fact! A story where you get to choose whatever role you desire.”_ He walked away, disrespectfully twirling the stolen cane. _“How long have you been stuck here, hm? Oh ten, twenty, hundreds upon hundreds of repeats?!”_ He laughed as the numbers got bigger, the cane slowly coming to a stop as the laughs got louder. He calmed himself for a moment as he went on, _“Well lucky you, your old pal Marky can get you out of here! That is… if you say yes.”_

“Yes to what?”

Mark turned to him with a bright and proud smile, _“To join me in the spotlight, of course! Imagine what the fans would think-”_ He ran back over to Wilford’s side, taking him by the shoulder as he used the arm with his cane to motion towards the bright crystalizing light of the chandelier, _“Markiplier and Wilford Warfstache wowing the crowds together for the first time in years - decades even!”_ He turned Wilford by the chair, making him look at his intense and creepy smile, _“A free ticket to joining the good guys, all to put this past air behind us!”_

Wilford looked at him with wide eyes, “You… Can’t be serious.” 

_“I know!”_ He flaunted that infamously large ego of his as he backed away, presenting himself as if he was some sort of idol, _“Quite the opportunity if I say so myself-!”_

“No, I mean you’ve got to be _delirious_ if you think I’d _ever_ work beside you!” He yelled back at him, “And calling yourself a good guy? After all the shit you pulled?! After you and that detective tried to frame me? What you did to Damien?! And Celine?! Both of them!?”

 _“Those bastards deserved it!”_ Mark yelled back, the overlap overpowering Wilford’s senses, _“She left me for **you** of all people! You should be grateful that I’m giving you this chance!”_

He powered through as he growled, “You were never good enough for her! You never made her happy-!”

 ** _“I gave up EVERYTHING for her!”_** He yelled loudly, multiple voices repeating and clouding up his own by comparison. The house seemed to shake in his rage, each crack adding dust into the thick smoggy air. Wil could swear Mark was levitating off the ground, the image of rotting corpses filling the walls as an intense static rang clear through his ears. The screws dug deep into Wil’s hands, causing his body to tense up in pain. He did everything he could to conceal any signs of pain, panting and grunting through as the screws dug deeper.

Mark panted as he looked back down, their surroundings eventually settling down before he attempted to speak again. _“Don’t defy me, William…”_ He spoke softly, the click of his heels echoing against the walls as he stepped closer, _“Don’t attempt to deny your one ticket out of this never-ending hell, dear friend.”_ He leaned back over and looked Wilford straight in the eyes, barely a foot away from his face. _“Tell me what I want to hear, William. Say you want to get out of here. That I can have you as my bright and bubbly sidekick as opposed to another tedious villain I have to put back in their place,”_ He rolled his eyes for a moment before letting a little grin back on his face. _“Don’t be like Damien or Celine…”_ He shook his head softly, using the cane to force Wilford’s head in place. _“It will be easier for us both if you just admit that you want this. So go on… just say yes,”_ His voice hissed quietly in Wil’s ears, his pearly whites showing through like a shark to its next meal.

Wilford looked straight into Mark’s eyes, he had already decided his answer the moment he showed no remorse for his actions towards him or his friends. He gathered up his courage and spat a large loogie right in Mark’s face, having him jolt and back away in disgust. “I don’t want any part of your demented story,” He growled, low and defiant. “I’d rather be stuck here for as long as time itself than _ever_ go along with you and your twisted morals. So go to hell!” 

Mark scowled and wiped the spit off his face, giving Wilford a deep, menacing glare. After a moment of silence, he took in a large deep breath and sighed with a smile. _“Well… At least I don’t have to worry that anymore.”_

Wilford looked at him, confused for a moment before he felt something crawling up his ankles and wrists like a slimy snake. He looked down and jolted to see large black goopy tendrils wrapping around the legs of his chair and slowly up his body. He struggled to squirm, “W-What is this? What are you doing?!” 

_“I wasn’t really looking forward to being your friend anyway…”_ He grumbled, wiping the rest of the spit off his hands, _“But at the very least, **your body** will be much more useful than this old broken one. And you’re in shape too! A part I’ve been neglecting in my rise back to the top.”_

“What the hell are you talking about?!” He struggled in the chair, shrieking as the goop pushed in the screws even more, forcing the thread through the wounds bump by bump.

 _“Oh pipe down, soon you won’t be able to feel it anyways,”_ He groused and leaned against the table, watching the slimes intently. _“Well, with where you’re going, you won’t be feeling just about anything, will you?”_ He seemed to joke.

“Stop it!” He struggled to get free from the tendrils’ undying grip as they hugged him tighter and tighter, and climbing up his body higher and higher. All the while Mark was watching him with a little grin. “T-this is madness!” He screamed as he squirmed.

 _“Madness?”_ Mark started to giggle, a small and quiet gesture divulging straight down into a maniacal cackle that echoed throughout the manor. He was insane. _**“How dare you tell me what is or isn’t madness!”**_ The voices gathered and layered over each other as the goop like creature kept him attached to the chair, slowly working their way up to Wilford’s shoulders.

“Well _someone_ has to tell you that you are beyond batshit!” He growled back, squirming with all his might to break free from the chair, even as the slimes slithered up to his neck and squeezed. “And I know I don’t like to say it, but this is too fucking insane not to! Mark, you’re fucking craz-!” Before he could finish, a tendril slapped itself over his mouth, leaving barely able to breathe.

Mark chuckled softly, _“It shouldn’t be long now. Oh, and please keep struggling. That will make this all the quicker.”_

The cracks of the room seemed to grow bigger with bangs beyond them, some having specks of white light spread out like the bullets in a shotgun. Mark just groaned as he looked over. _“Oh for God’s sake, not now!”_ He yelled. The slimes seemed to stop at Wil’s cheeks as Mark focused all his energy on the surrounding manor not to break. Mark growled and panted as the manor began to shake, the furniture melting down like candle wax. His hands were planted against the wall, trying to stop the deterioration even as the cracks shot sharp pieces out at him with every bang. **_“I won’t let you ruin this!”_** Mark screamed, whatever was on the other side kept trying to break in, and it didn’t plan to stop. Cracks one at a time expanded with the bangs as the walls slowly broke down until finally, all the room seemed to burst like when a rock meets a mirror.

The slimes receded sharply as the room shattered and Wilford’s chair fell, landing on its side as if he had been floating in space all the time. “Ow.” It was revealed to Wilford that he was only residing in a warehouse, not the Manor.

 _“Ah!”_ Mark tried to stay calm and collected through his exasperated tone, _“What a time for **you** to show u-!”_ Mark cut off with a shortened grunt of pain.

“Go to hell,” A dark and brooding tone seemed to echo in on itself, Wilford knowing _exactly_ who it belonged to. Mark just snickered at them sweetly before it turned into an unhinged guffaw, his laughter splitting off into multiple voices that eventually faded into nothingness. Steps made their way over and behind Wilford’s head, eventually stopping with a gasp. “William…!”

Wilford shyly looked over to see Dark kneeling above him, nothing but concern spread across their face. “My God, what did he do to you? Your poor hands!” Dark brought their hands over Wilford’s arm, but their own hands seemed to shake with fear. They looked on the edge of bursting into tears, and Wilford couldn’t handle it.

“It’s nothing!” He blurted out quickly. He tried to smile and keep up his lie, but his hands were bleeding all too profusely now. “It’s just a scratch, I swear.”

“A scratch?!” Dark yelled concerned, Celine and Damien’s voices’ overlapping. He could hear the two ramble over one another in panic, both telling him in their own ways how he was clearly in pain, and an idiot for even attempting such a joke at a time like this. All the while Dark’s mouth was shut, holding their head before eventually yelling out, “You could’ve gotten yourself killed!” The two voices that Wilford identified as his friends ceased, making his eyes widen. “I was worried about you!” They admitted, with a tear escaping their eyes. They tried to wipe it away, but more kept coming, “I mean-! We were, we both were. We had no idea what had happened to you after that night! They-! They thought-! We-! _I_ thought you-!” They struggled to speak, hands twisting into their hair and trying to pull the skin apart.

"Calm down,” Wilford stated as calmly as he could. “Everything’s gonna be fine. I’ll wake up tomorrow and this won’t even hurt,” He lied. It would hurt a shit ton, but he needed to tell them that he was alright. He needed to tell Dark that he was alright.

“How can you say that?” They grumbled and wiped off tears, forcing their hands out of their hair, “Your hands are practically mangled!”

Wilford shrugged as best he could, “What can I say? I’ve been through worse.”

"You’re an idiot,” Dark growled for a moment before softening, “But… I’m glad I found you again…”

They both stayed quiet as Dark tried to get Wilford safely out of the chair without any further damage to him or his shirt. Dark sat him and the chair upright before starting to work on the bolts. They were able to get the ones off near his shoulders, but eventually gave up and ripped off the sleeves and the seam of his pants. Wilford would usually be a lot more pissed about his favorite shirt and pants being ruined, but he thought complaining at a time like this was more than unwarranted. He was just glad he could move, despite all the pain that rushed to his arms.

Dark picked him up as they would a wounded cat or a crying baby, gentle and tenderly. They walked through thick shadow before emerging in a quaint and simple modern style apartment. They set Wilford down on the black leather sofa, grabbing medical supplies from the bathroom before even addressing the main problems. The two sat across from each other on the couch as Dark tenderly unscrewed each screw from Wilford’s hands, cleaning each wound with a washcloth and a bit of peroxide. Wilford did his best not to distract them, occasionally letting out a hissing noise when a screw was removed too harshly. They gently took the still shaking hands in their own as they wrapped soft thin bandages around each of the palms. Wilford tested his fingers slowly, letting them curl in and stretch them out as he tried to calm their quivering.

He looked up to Dark, who was anxiously awaiting what Wilford would say to them. “Thank you,” He mumbled softly with a sigh, “My goose would’ve been cooked without you.”

“Y-you’re welcome,” They stuttered. The two refused to make eye contact with each other for a long while, neither sure how to even start a conversation.

“Ssssssso,” Wilford started, looking around the clean-cut home, “This is where you live?”

“Oh, yeah... I live here…”

“... Looks pretty nice… polished.”

"Thank you.”

And just like that, they were back to silence, looking at anything but each other. It was like a first date all over again, every icebreaker was turning into more ice, and the breakers were becoming too nervous to hit it again.

“Uh,” Dark cleared their throat as they attempted to speak, “What did Mark… _say_ to you?”

Wilford groaned a bit, “I honestly don’t know what he was smoking. Talking about villains and good guys… It was confusing…” He looked up at Dark, “He said not to be like you… So I spat right in his face.”

Dark looked at Wilford with surprise clear in their eyes. They hummed a little chuckle, catching Wilford off guard by the fact that this man could actually _smile._ Not only that, but it was a grand grin, even though it was small. “You spat in his face?”

“A big ol’ heckin’ loogie! I almost got him in the eye too! On his “good side”.” He boasted, getting Dark to smile and chuckle a little more. It was so pure, so genuine, so unique to their own single being.

He watched as the smile faded away from Dark’s face, “What?”

"Nothing,” He immediately defended, suddenly aware of the fact that he was just staring at Dark’s face for what could have been well over five minutes. “I just… I’ve never seen you smile before.”

Dark looked away with a soft scoff, “Celine’s smiled for you before. And you know fairly well how often you made Damien smile-”

“But I never saw you smile before,” He cut Dark off, “Or if I did, I can’t even remember it being so…”

“So… what?” Dark hesitantly asked.

“So…” Wilford felt no reason to lie, he might as well have said what he thought, “Well… beautiful.”

Dark looked at Wilford, eyes widened for a moment before they forced their gaze away, a subtle grey darkening among their cheeks. “And you say you don’t flirt.”

“I don’t!” He justified, “If this is flirting, then I don’t want to know what you think a compliment is!”

Dark tried to conceal their snicker with a scoff, hiding their mouth behind their hand. “You’re an idiot.”

“So are you then,” Wilford let his hand drift up to Dark’s, barely having to put any pressure on it to get Dark to move their hand down. He smirked softly at them, “Now don’t hide it, okay? It really is worth sharing.”

Dark still looked away, but couldn’t bring their hand back up, letting Wilford see their pure and unadulterated smile back on their face. There was even a chuckle in their voice, “If I’m an idiot too, does that mean I’ll have to start dressing with the same lack of style?”

Wilford snorted and laughed back, the two sharing that moment of joy as the pain faded away. And they both stayed like that until the sun rose again, 5 am.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this! I'm gonna be taking a small break from writing this due to family complications. I'll probably post again before the year ends. See you then! - Life


	10. Swing your Hips

Wilford awaited his friend at the cafe, their orders sitting on the table. He smiled with joy as he thought of the wonderful plans he wanted to bring to fruition. For the past few days, he and Dark had been meeting up, spending the day with each other up until the very end. They would catch up with each other in their lives before all this madness started to occur, from big events to small details. Wilford had loads of stories under his belt that he saved for only the best of the best to hear, filled with loads of action to keep anyone entertained. Dark had little to share, but hearing their tales was just as fun if not more so to Wilford’s ears. 

His joy doubled as he saw Dark through the window, getting up giddily as they walked through the door. Dark smiled and walked over, allowing Wilford a chance to hug them. Although they were very clear on needing their personal space, they allowed Wilford to invade it with their permission. Wilford gave them a big squeeze before motioning to their table, both of them sitting down.

“I tried something new with your tea,” Wilford hummed. “I hope it’s more to your taste.”

Dark took a cautious sip before humming with surprise. “It’s sweet, but not too sweet… Is that lemon I taste as well?” Wilford nodded with a grand smile before Dark let out a chuckle. “It’s perfect, Wilford. Thank you.” 

Wilford smiled at his chosen name. They both made an agreement to try and put any issues or past habits behind them, including their old identities. It was now a secret that they shared alone, and to the rest of the world, they were just Wilford and Dark. 

Even so, Wilford knew better than that. He knew that not everything could be put behind them as easily as they could say. There had to be something he could do to guarantee that Dark wouldn’t hate him for the man he once was; Something that would keep them from leaving him alone again after all this was over, he just had to find out what _it_ was.

He pushed that thought aside, as he and Dark continued to talk. Sometimes they would discuss the situation at hand, noting things like pencils staying broken for a day or more before fixing itself. Most times they would be talking about their past, or whatever part of it they were most comfortable disclosing. 

They sat in the cafe right up until closing time, around 3 pm. They continued side by side as they walked up to Wilford’s apartment to don his costume for his job at the club. Wilford welcomed them inside, relieved that it managed to stay mostly orderly since the last time he had cleaned it. They both sighed with relief, letting their auras permeate the room. Dark had expressed needing to feel safe if they willingly let their smoke run free, so they both only let loose in private spaces like this one. Wilford also felt like his mist seemed to calm Dark, even if he was in the other room, he could tell Dark felt more at ease with both.

He grabbed his new clothes that sat on top of the dryer. His previous pink shirt and yellow pants had still been ripped and given tons of holes since his last encounter with Mark, so he had bought something a bit different. He hadn’t stopped giggling at the damn thing since he and Dark had found such a brilliant item in a pawn shop. It was a fully sequined hot pink button-up, that had come with a bright yellow bow and top hat with gold and sequin accents; less shimmery he found some beautiful baby pink suspenders and similarly soft yellow pants just asking to be taken. Wilford was MADE for these clothes, buying them the moment he laid eyes on them. 

He stepped out, hat and all, with a little spin. “What do you think, Darki dear? Are the suspenders too much or just enough?”

Dark snickered at him, covering his mouth, “You look ridiculous! But I guess that’s exactly what you were aiming for, weren’t you?”

Wilford mocked a scoff as he walked over, “Oh come off it! I look fantastic!”

“But did you really need me to say that?” They playfully raised an eyebrow.

“Yes!” He humphed and crossed his arms like a child. 

Dark just sighed, “You look wonderful, Wil.” 

“Thank you!” He giggled and pulled Dark up from the couch. “Now it’s your turn!” 

“Wilford no,” They stated, “I’m not getting into an absurd outfit like that.” 

Wilford scoffed in mock offense and gestured at the large black sequin suit that was hanging from the bathroom doorway. He had bought it for Dark at the exact same pawn shop, despite Dark’s insisting that they didn’t want anything to do with it. “But I want us to match!” 

“Not in a million years.” 

“Just the jacket?” 

“No.” 

“The hat?”

“No.”

“The pants?” 

“No!” 

“The tie?” Dark hesitated at the last one, and Wilford smiled. “Yes! Just the tie, please please please please please?!” 

Dark let out a large sigh. “Okay. Just the tie… and maybe those completely tacky cufflinks if that will make you happy.” Wilford giggled in giddy hope, unzipping the bag that the outfit resided in and pulled out the red sequined tie. 

“You wanna know what else?” Wilford bounced as he waited for Dark to take off their real tie in favor of the sequin clip-on. He played with the sequins to reveal that they became blue when pushed against the grain. “Ain’t that freakin’ cool?! I can not wait until this gets popularized!” he rambled as he clipped on the sequin tie. 

Dark hummed and stroked it all down and back to red, then stroking it back up to blue, then back to red. “That is a bit… fun.” 

“I knew you’d like it Darki! It’s a shame you’re not wearing the suit,” He chuckled and linked arms with Dark, “Now come forth! The club awaits!” 

“You’re utterly impossible,” Dark rolled their eyes, Wilford now understanding that as a playful mannerism. Their auras were sucked back into each other’s bodies, Wilford noticing the edges pulling away like the lingering fingertips of lowly lovers. He giggled to himself as they walked out the door, Dark not fully catching his mood.

They managed to keep their linked arms as they walked to the club, giving a wave to his bandmates. Wilford briefly introduced Dark as a guest of honor, his bandmates saying hello and being the dears they always would be. Wilford bid Dark adieu as he went to set up the lights, who parted in favor of sitting at the bar. At the end, he pulled a prank where he hooked his foot on the lighting rail, pretended to fall, and getting others to laugh as he feigned getting stuck in the lighting system. A quick glance at Dark confirmed that they were very aware of his game, but was amused by it nonetheless. When the joke was over and he was placed back firmly on the ground, he won the game of rock-paper-scissors to be put in the front this time. (It was only a third chance he’d lose anyway, what was the harm in indulging in the system?) 

He walked over to Dave and Dark, who were casually chatting about how they knew Wilford. Dave called him over and prepared him his usual martini, pink umbrella included. Wilford chuckled as he looked at Dark; he had complained about the pink umbrellas once, and now that was all Dave seemed to carry since.

“So,” Wilford asked, leaning against the bar, “Will you dance with me tonight?” 

“I think you already know the answer to that, Wil,” Dark hummed, taking a sip of his own drink. In an odd irony, he had taken to Wil’s habits of having a drink at Dave’s bar. He kept his class though, only ordering glasses of the nicest wines Dave could offer. 

“Oh come on! Just one little dance?” He chuckled, “Maybe a charleston if you’re too old school for this new music?” 

“You know far too well that you’re older than me,” He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Besides, I much prefer watching you dance instead.” 

Wilford groaned long and loud, “Oh come on! You know enough time will pass for you to say yes eventually!” 

“Well then, it looks like you’ll have to keep trying.” 

“Oh fine!” He hummed and finished his martini quickly before being called to the stage, taking the center like he always loved to. He stretched and loosened up, taking moments to glance at Dark while he did. Dark treated him with a little smile, turning their body so they could watch him perform.

He put his best smile on as the doors flew open, patrons flooding in as the music started. He revved up the crowd to get up and move before pulling a few moves of his own, his mates following behind him. He always had a few moves that he would repeat, never boring of the classics: a point to the sky, rolling his fists around one another, an enthusiastic wiggle in his shoulders, and occasionally pulling out moves like his famous “crane” dance. Tonight he pulled out all the stops - tucking and rolling, popping and locking, twisting and turning, whipping and waving - some of which hadn’t been invented yet. He could feel his own energy bouncing back at him from the crowd, cheering back at him as they swayed to the groovy tunes. 

As he would pull off a trick, he would ignore the loud hooping and hollering from the crowd in favor of looking out to his friend, seeing them smile back at him. He liked seeing Dark as a part of the crowd, but he wanted to treat them to the same fun he was having. After the first two hours of non-stop dancing, he and his crew took a break. He slipped through the crowd and stole the spot next to Dark, sweating and panting like a poodle in summer. 

“You having fun?” Dark hummed coyly at him, sliding over a pre-prepared martini. 

“Oh, lots!” he chuckled, taking a sip of the beverage and catching his breath. “It’s just a shame you’re not out there with me.” 

They gave him a shrug, “Disco’s just not my kind of music.” 

“Oh?” He huffed before straightening up in his seat, “And what kind of music do you like?” 

“I’m not fully sure…” They admitted, swishing around the little wine left in their glass. “I haven’t really pursued my tastes for such things.” 

Wilford raised an eyebrow, “Then how do you know you hate disco music?” 

“I didn’t say I hated it,” They defended quickly. “It’s certainly an interesting genre… just not my favorite.”

Wilford hummed softly, “Well… is there anything you’ve listened to outside of disco?” 

They leaned back in thought, “I suppose I like the classics: Bach and Beethoven and-” 

“Anything within this century?” He stopped them, doing his best to hold down a chuckle. 

“Well,” They hummed as they finished off their glass, “I know we used to like all sorts of tunes. Damien liked to experiment with his music tastes much more than Celine did. I listen to what they used to like, and its nice… but it’s not me, you know?” 

Wilford twiddled his stache in thought, “Curious...” He sipped his martini as he tried to remember any sort of music he heard in his past or future. “Would you be willing to try out something new?” 

Dark shrugged their shoulders, “I suppose I’d be subject to try.” 

Wilford smiled at them, “Good, because I think I got a few old goodies in mind that you’re gonna love and hate me for.”

Dark raised a brow, “What are you plotting?” 

“Well,” Wilford chuckled, “Do you remember when we used to go swingin' at the Blitz?”

Dark’s eyes widened for a moment before they groaned, “Yes I do, but you know I was never good at it.” 

“I beg your pardon, us three could dance a swing better than the Lindy Hoppers themselves!” He proudly announced, “And I think you’d like a new spin on an old classic!” 

“New spin?” They deadpanned. 

“Just trust me, and promise you’ll dance at least once?” His tone bordered on a whine as he smiled and gave them his best innocent stare. 

Dark tried to look away, but couldn’t, and they eventually gave in with a sigh. “Okay fine, I’ll dance one time - if I like the music,” they clarified. 

Wilford giggled gleefully as he wiggled in his seat, “Oh! This is gonna be so much fun!” He gulped down his martini and jumped to the DJ, persuading them relatively quickly to pop in a CD in his hand when he went back on stage. He quickly explained his idea to his bandmates before they hopped back along stage, agreeing to take his lead with some new jams. 

He grabbed a microphone, even he didn’t know where from, and tapped it a few times to test it. “Hello everyone, you having a good time?” He called into the mic, getting an enthusiastic cry back from the audience. He chuckled, “Good, good! Now, with your permission, I’d like to try something a little different.” The crowd seemed to mutter in hushed and excited whispers. He gave a nod to the DJ, who popped in his disc and started the music. “It’s a little... ‘underworks’ right now…” He slipped a little wink over to Dark, “But I think you’ll like it!”

The music started off with a little intro of an old favorite, which he thought was the perfect start to get the crowd into the swing of the music. He did a simple move that he had his bandmates replicate, a basic version of the charleston, heels swinging out as he took a step and sliding inwards as he took a step. He kept his smile as his audience stared with confusion, playfully inviting them to follow along and copy him. He added a little more flair onto his charleston, kicking up his heels like they would do in the 20s and adding a window wiper move with his arms. 

He pretended to straighten his voice, before giving the audience a little wink and grand bow as his lips echoed the music, _"Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you Mr. Charlie Puth on key!”_

The music began to change, adding a little tambourine action and a more emphasized beat. His excitement grew as the crowd started to really move, hearing the synths paired with the classic piano. He threw in some new flair in his move, sliding whenever the electrified snare hit or adding spins and kicks as the deep bass drums bit faster and faster.

He secured their mood with his whole body collapsing to the floor when the beat dropped, then popping right back up when the music resumed. The crowd hooped and hollered, seeing the crowd really start to move with him and even replicate his swing kicks and circular arm movements. He giggled as he threw in a few goofy moves, over the top in his acting as he feigned a run with his arms circling around each other like a windmill or impromptu getting his bandmates to link up and do the monkey walk.

He looked to Dark to see a cheeky grin, he could see right through Wilford’s little plot of easing him into their present era by skipping a few over to get something fun. He offered Dark to come up and join him, to which he immediately waved his hands in disagreement. Wilford hummed to himself, continuing to dance to the electrically enhanced swing - electro swing, as he coined it - thinking about other possible songs he could find in this new genre. He smiled as he queued up more music, mentally poking at Dark’s psyche for some giving reaction. He pretended to sing the lyrics as he knew them all so well, really mixing in his current moves with moves from the past. 

He smiled when he saw Dark jolt at the table when the tune started, knowing this song had to be the one. He chuckled and played around with the beat, lip-syncing the words for a little extra fun. 

_“I took the perfect avenue, down the road to both of you  
Did I go Dutch? This is too much  
With all the money in the world, you could never buy this girl  
Quite enough, it will be tough”_

He only eyed Dark as he danced, really playing with his moves as he saw Dark look back and grin. He took one of his bandmates’ hands as a substitute for a partner, rock stepping to the beat, and tangling up his mate with a spin before letting them go and repeating with the other. He practically saw Dark’s annoyance fading from the other side of the room. He smirked as he hopped down from the stage, having enough of their stubbornness. 

He slipped through the crowd, dancing a bit with people and showing off a triple step or two as he made his way to the bar. He chuckled as he saw Dave practically pushing Dark off their stool, their grey face a much darker tint than it was before. 

Wilford hummed and gently took their hand, showing nothing but kindness as he pulled them onto the floor. Dark didn’t really resist the tug, but did seem bothered by the people around them, eyes darting in every direction. 

“Don’t worry about them,” Wilford mumbled with a grin, “Believe me, your dancing is bound to be much better than these folks. I’m only askin’ for you to try and loosen up… if that is something an old codger like you can manage.” 

_”I can't separate your sins, to me you're acting like you're twins,  
This is a mess… Is this a test?_

Dark looked back to Wilford, their eyes sparkling with what he could only assume was competition. Wilford wrapped his arm lightly around Dark’s upper arm, the other cupping Dark’s cold hand, “I’ll lead.”

_How many guesses do I get till only one of you is left?  
You're quite the same, if love's the gain”_

Wilford led them into a small rock back and forth with three steps, counting out the steps to help. He had to be conservative with the amount of dancefloor they used, not able to freely move around the room as they could. That, and knowing if he swung Dark all around the floor they could both end up face down on it. He would mumble the names of steps as he’d do them, giving Dark a little time to prepare and remember what a ‘rock’ meant before pulling out some more fun moves like spinning and pull-ins. He’d playfully mutter pointers like “toes out” or “quicker steps,” smirking at Dark’s little grumbles and retaliations.

Dark pulled away from a spin, facing away from Wilford as they stood still. To Wil’s surprise, the crowd around them had dispersed into a semi-large circle, calling out hips and hoorahs at the two. They cheered for an encore as the music reached its bridge and Dark looked back at Wilford with the slightest bit of playfulness.

_“Treating girls like a yo-yo,”_ Dark pretended to sing as they turned back around, wagging his finger at him, _“Is a no-no of a monumental kind.”_ They smiled as they mimed throwing a rope, both of them playing into the illusion that they were pulled closer together. _“If playing with your string happens to be your thing, It's easy to say to both,”_ They both reached each other, pulling into each other perhaps a bit too close before Dark pulled away with their hand brushing Wilford off, _“Oh nevermind.”_

They both looked back at each other as it was clear what they were going to do. They were going to have fun no matter what, and that started with dancing.

_And get me waking up  
Shake it up, tangled up  
You could be breaking up, making up, tangled up  
You can't be faking it, making it from my love  
With all this tragedy, don't get me tangled up_

They gleefully swung around the room, all the patrons cheering them on with each successfully pulled off move. Wilford saw Dark’s smile grow, the room echoing their joy in the comfort of the deep rosy lights. Mixing in with their swing were moves from other genres: foxtrot, tango, jazz, and even a quick waltz step thrown in. Dark threw back a few comments like “Try to keep up,” and “forgot the kick,” edging Wilford in a playful and sportful way. 

The song had ended, the two left alone in their panting as they had stopped with a simple pull back into each other’s arms. Neither heard the cries or applause of the crowd around them, but neither needed to. It was like all they needed was a look at the other’s exhausted but joyful grin. 

Wilford chuckled as he looked up at Dark, “Told ya you’d do great.” 

“Only ‘cause the only other person who can dance in this damned club is you.” 

Wilford chuckled and pulled away from their hold with a chuckle, starting to joke “Do you hear this-?” His joke was cut off as he realized that all the patrons had stopped in their cheerings, smiles, and hands stuck in mid clap. The dance floor was completely frozen, the only thing left moving were the light fixtures he had set up earlier, swinging back and forth across the floor with an unfamiliar burgundy tint. “... folks...” Wilford mumbled as his eyes searched for anyone to move.

“What the hell?” Dark muttered from behind him, Wilford finding he was just as confused. They both tensed as the music began to play at an unbearably slow pace, a soft creaking echoing around them. They searched the room for anything around them, possibly finding someone who was just as confused as they were. They both fixated on a little crack in between the crowd, staticy and shaky. They both shot a glance at each other before walking towards the little crack, staring at the 2D glimmer in space. 

Dark smacked Wil’s hand down as soon as it started to come up. “Ow!” 

“Don’t touch it.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because your first instinct when seeing something clearly out of the ordinary like this shouldn’t be to touch it,” They deadpanned. 

“You do remember who you’re talking to, right?” Wilford reciprocated their tone as they pulled out a martini up from nowhere and taking a sip. “These are the same cracks in your journal and the ones from that encounter with Mr. Ego Extravaganza,” He leaned back from the crack. “And you said so yourself that these only appear for a second or two… so why is this one still here?” 

Dark groaned, “If this is all _his_ doing, then I’m gonna need something stronger than your revolver.”

Wilford hummed and reached into the bag that suddenly hung from his shoulder, pulling out his gun. “Well if I can’t touch it, and it’s _probably_ Mark anyways, then can I shoot it?”

“No! What if it hits someone?”

“But I wanna see if the gun goes slow-mo! And I got a perfect target!” 

“Wil, no!” Dark growled as he tried to get the gun out of Wilford’s grip. Wilford growled back at them as he pushed to aim, tilting his head to get the best angle from his unfortunate positioning. 

He was able to push Dark’s hands away enough to finally get a clean shot, the bang of the gun ringing through the club. They both looked to the crack to find the bullet stopped right in front of it, little pulses of electricity emanating from the crack. The bullet was still trying to pierce through, it’s force slowly pulling it towards the static. 

It zipped through, and the crack expanded like the mouth to a cave. The static traveled through the tunnels along with the bullet, showing them a long path before them. Wilford huffed a chuckle in disbelief, “Well I’ll be…” 

Dark finally let go of Wilford’s arms, pushing him away, “You didn’t know that was going to happen.”

“Neither did you,” Wilford rolled his eyes playfully, walking towards the giant opening. “Where do you think it goes?” 

“Well…” Dark hummed, following Wil to the edge. “It’ll probably lead us to another encounter with Mark… but it might be our only way out.” 

Wilford looked at Dark with stunned eyes, “You think so?” 

“It’s only a theory… And I guess we won’t have much time to test it,” Dark noted, holding the hole with his foot and hand as it started to shrink. “Come on, we’ll have to hurry.”

Wilford nodded and followed behind Dark as they walked through the mouth of the tunnels, seeing the entrance close up behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being so patient with me. :) I hope to finish this off soon now that I have the time! See you all soon!


End file.
